Infinite Possibilities
by DarthRuinous
Summary: A collection of one-shot and multi-shot AUs, compiled from challenges, requests, and my own strange mind. 1st AU: Palpatine attempts to raise Maul and Anakin in 'Family Business.'
1. Family Business Part 1

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Infinite Possibilities

Chapter 1: Family Business, Part 1

Sheev Palpatine, new senator of the Chommell Sector, had an easy job. He showed up to work, admittedly slept through most of the speeches (he did have a busy nightlife after all), cast his vote when something interesting came along, and mingled with the filthy rich members of Coruscant's high society. All in all, he found it entertaining, the way he could quietly amass power while everyone else whiled away the hours in debauched revelry.

Darth Sidious, terrifying Dark Lord of the Sith, possessed a slightly more difficult task. Oh certainly, he needed to ensure the implementation of the Grand Plan, thousands of years in the making. Certainly, he ran the risk of constant exposure and death when he lingered near the obtrusive members of the Jedi Order. Even more certainly, he carried out the sometimes-absurd wishes of his eccentric Sith Master, Darth Plagueis.

Like now. He stood in his secondary apartment's kitchen deep in the LiMerge complex, located in the industrial area of Coruscant known as the Works. What he was doing might be considered Sith alchemy, in the sense that he was a Sith Lord and the mixture he was concocting struck him as highly dubious. Still, the occasion called for it, with a loud and decidedly piercing cry.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a streak of black and red beelining for the front door of the small apartment. Entirely too much red and black. He sighed.

"Maul, we do _not_ leave the apartment like that," Sidious reached out with the Force and snagged his wayward apprentice, dragging him back through the door and depositing him on the floor. "We are not savage animals. Go put some clothes on."

The toddler looked up at him fiercely. "Wanna kill worms!"

He stared back down, unimpressed by the tiny glare. "There are enough duracrete slugs on Coruscant to allow you time to dress like a civilized being, Maul." He supposed he appreciated the enthusiasm his apprentice had for his training, but still: propriety must be observed. He would not have the Sith Order becoming the laughingstock of the galaxy due to one small Zabrak's distaste for clothing. _I hope this is a passing phase. No one ever told me about this._

He glanced on the chronometer on the kitchen wall. The Senate session would begin before long, and he was expected to make an important declaration for Naboo's trading rights. He lowered himself to Maul's level and took a deep breath. "Go. Get. Dressed."

"Yes, Mas'er," Maul wilted and disappeared into the back bedrooms, and Sidious stood up again, pleased. Perhaps Lord Plagueis thought to drive him mad with this child-apprentice raising ploy; quite the contrary, he felt he rather had things nicely under control.

Behind him, someone chortled happily. He turned to regard his second charge, a tiny human baby with a shock of blond hair and the bluest eyes Sidious had ever seen, buckled into a restraining system at the far end of the long black table. "You find it funny?" he rumbled, moving back to the kitchen counter to finish his original job of compiling a strange mixture of vegetables and meats into the blender. He checked the recipe again doubtfully. This was healthy?

Anakin laughed again, soothed by the sight of his master preparing his breakfast. Such a happy baby, for a future Sith. Sidious worried if this were normal, if he were doing something wrong. Plagueis only smiled when his human apprentice broached such topics during their conferences by hologram: useless fool of a Muun. Why had his old master insisted that Sidious be the one to care for these younglings, when a nursey droid might better do the trick?

He remembered the day clearly, only months ago, when Plagueis had shown up late at night in his apartment in 500 Republica with a wiggling bundle of human youngling, a male with bright eyes and curious hands and a powerful glowing strength in the Force.

 _Suspecting something foul on his master's mind, Sidious attempted a joke. 'Not mine, I hope?'_

 _Plagueis ignored him, staring down into the small face and the hands that twined themselves in the lower portion of his transpirator. 'It matters little where Anakin came from. But I am putting him in your charge, Lord Sidious. I must return to Aborah, soon.'_

' _My charge,' Sidious replied flatly, watching the child squirm in his master's long arms. Anakin… what a curious name…_

' _Raise him as you have been raising Maul, as a dark warrior,' Plagueis instructed. 'Do not mention the Sith or our plans until they are grown and matured as natural and formidable fighters. Then we shall see.'_

' _See, Master?' Sidious questioned lightly, even as Plagueis passed the infant over._

' _Who shall be the ultimate extension of our will,' Plagueis said, saying nothing more except one cryptic remark as he moved to the door. 'Form the bond, Lord Sidious, and we will see.'_

Already by that time, he had learned to stop second-guessing Plagueis – at least, aloud. Consequently, he now found himself sitting next to Anakin with the glop of blended food in a small bowl. "Eat it this time," he told the infant, knowing and loathing how his voice twisted with a slight pleading lilt at the end.

Anakin's bright eyes gleamed up at him as he lifted the first spoonful to the wide mouth. Anakin leaned forward. "That's it, you little gurrcat," Sidious grinned, and then threw his Force shields up when Anakin batted the spoon away with one grasping hand, sending the contents splattering across the table and himself.

Anakin laughed and giggled and cooed while Sidious counted silently back from ten. He suspected that if he applied Force Lightning, Anakin would either be dead or even more clueless than he was; either prospect was not appealing.

He tried again, but this time Anakin pressed his lips together and turned his head almost completely around to avoid the spoon. Did human anatomy even allow for that?

To his eternal shame, Sidious had once visited a self-help Holonet site for young single fathers shortly after Plagueis had first dumped the human baby into his arms. Make it a game, they had said. He looked down at the spoon and bowl, bit his lip hard to enough to make it bleed, and leaned forward for a new attempt. "Here comes the Starfighter. Zip. Zip." Obviously not his best performance, but Anakin opened his mouth and giggled, and he took the chance to slide the paste inside.

Anakin scowled at him, betrayed, and the Force trembled with a tiny wave of anger.

"Good," Sidious smirked down at him. "Very good. Use your aggressive feelings, boy."

He spoke too soon, forgetting that Anakin had very impressive aim. As the food slime dripped off the end of his nose, Sidious reflected that the boy would make an excellent fighter pilot someday, no doubt. Being the Sith he was – and a very good one at that, thank you very much – Sidious decided to do what Sith did best: he cheated. "You will eat your breakfast," he purred, waving one hand in front of the boy's eyes and watching them glaze with the Force suggestion. He could not afford to do it often or he would risk turning the boy into a vegetable, but glancing at the chronometer again, this was an emergency.

A few quick movements and most the of the nutritious slop ended up in Anakin's stomach, although an alarming amount still found its way all over the chair and baby. Sidious was just tidying up the last bits and pulling Anakin loose of his restraints when he spied Maul slinking back through the hallway.

"Maul," he said warningly, setting Anakin down on the floor, and the little bundle of black robes turned to face him in the doorframe.

"Mas'er?" Maul tried to kneel, but stumbled over his robes in the process. Sidious sighed and walked to his side, picking him up by the scruff and righting him. "I got dressed."

"Thank the Force for that," he muttered, straightening the bunched collar of Maul's shirt and brushing him off. "Now remember, you are training to become a feared killer when you are out there. It is an environment of kill or be killed. I will be most disappointed if you perish unnecessarily. Or if you return with less than your previous day's record."

Maul lowered his small, horned head. "Yes, Mas'er."

"You must be ruthless, cunning, and silent as the night."

"Yes, Mas'er."

"You must use the shadows as an extension of your will."

"Yes, Mas'er."

He paused. "And most importantly, you cannot bring home a live duracrete slug again."

Maul's lower lip trembled. "But… Mas'er!"

Sidious shook his head. "My word is final, Maul. Your last 'pet' chewed through all the wiring on my preferred speeder. I'll not have another bringing down the structural integrity of this building."

Maul sullenly nodded. "Okay."

"And return in time for your lessons with the droid. Lateness will be met with swift reprisals."

Maul's red shifted to a slight pink. "Yes, Mas'er."

"On your way, then," he lifted his chin sharply, and the Zabrak youngling vanished out the door. Sidious supposed some parents would disapprove of his sink-or-swim approach, but he was confident Maul could survive the lower levels of the Works already. He experienced a small surge of pride at the progress his student had shown. Plagueis would be pleased, indeed.

Something tapped his boot, and he glanced down. This one, on the other hand…. Anakin had crawled to him and now lay wrapped around his boot, attempting to chew on the shiny shaak leather. "'Form the bond,' he said," Sidious remarked sourly and picked the boy up, dangling him up for inspection. "Did he intend a bond of undying hatred for each other, I wonder?"

Anakin giggled and reached out two grasping hands, latching onto his prominent nose. He pulled him away with a soft huff, holding him at arms-length. "That was not put there for your amusement."

Glancing around the kitchen, still a jumble from the morning's preparations, Sidious sighed and shifted Anakin to his left hip. Ignoring the happy tugs on his once-immaculate red hair, he managed to get the room presentable again and carried Anakin into the living room where the infant pen resided. However, the moment he let go, Anakin sent up a gundark's wail loud enough to make him wince.

"Silence, you," he said sternly, and the tears rolled down Anakin's face. Uncomfortable, he reached down and offered his hand for lack of anything else, and Anakin gripped his fingers tightly and quieted with a soft hiccup. He ignored the twinge somewhere deep in his chest. "Crying is not becoming. It solves nothing, you little fool. It never does."

Anakin's grip tightened. By all Korriban, he was going to be late to his own speech. The young Sith Lord looked down at the small infant; Anakin stared up at him with glistening eyes. He should just leave him here to wail his little heart out, to learn his lesson that he could cry all he wanted and no one would ever come (because they never did), to cure him of this useless habit. Instead, he found himself summoning the Darkness to his will, forming shadows that curled around the tiny body and hugged him close, that coaxed the blue eyes shut and the little lungs into a deep sleep.

For a timeless moment, he studied the small youngling. Pulling his hand loose of the soft fingers, he straightened and moved to gather his case for the day and rearrange his robes and hair. This would not be happening again, he told himself with a sharp nod. Not again. He had work to do; the Grand Plan awaited him.

ooooooooooooooo

 **Okay, this cracky fluffy-angsty AU came about as a fic challenge/request with Brievel to write Palpatine fluff, whose own version you should definitely check out, and I don't regret it at all. :) Obviously AU, because Anakin is much closer to Maul's age than canon, and Sidious is raising them both on Coruscant instead of Mustafar. Otherwise, the time frame of events is still the same, a year after Palpatine becomes Senator. There will be a part 2, a little darker though I'll still try to work in a fairly happy ending.**


	2. Family Business Part 2

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Infinite Possibilities

Chapter 2: Family Business, Part 2

"And so the creature devoured the unwary child, because he had failed to heed the teachings of his master," Sidious finished the story with a toothy grin, intending to scare Anakin straight. This… mishap… certainly did not need to happen again.

The tiny toddler stared at him. In the other bed, Maul peeked out from under his covers.

Then Anakin laughed, a delighted rolling sound.

"Again!" he squealed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Where is Father?"

Maul's horned head shot up in alarm. "What?" The seven year old was studying fiercely for his next exam, a comprehensive study of Mandalorian arms and armor. He didn't want the punishment that would result from failure, but Anakin's nonchalant question caught him off guard.

"Where's Father?" Anakin repeated, moving into the room and glancing around, still clumsy and unbalanced.

"Don't call him that!" Maul protested, setting aside the datapad and standing up. "Don't ever call him that. He won't like it."

"'Net people say it," Anakin pouted. "I see it on the 'net. He's our father. We're family."

"Don't say that," Maul snapped, but felt a strike of guilt when Anakin's lower lip trembled. He gathered the five year old in his arms, hugged him tight, and whispered, "But you can think it if you want to."

When he was completely alone, when Master was not close by, he dared it.

 _Father._

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He worried – no, he never worried – at times how close the two had become, how they complimented each other. Maul was a spitfire, powerful and fast. Anakin was a talker, confident and cocky even at such a young age, but his own raw power levels rivaled the finest Sidious had ever encountered including his own. The two small boys were always together, and he should have separated them more.

Should have taken opportunities to sow discontent, suspicion, mistrust. It was what he did best.

He knew what Plagueis wanted of them. He knew letting them bond would only make it more painful for everyone involved. He told himself he let them stay together because he did not care how much it would hurt when they were parted.

He told himself they made such an impressively cohesive team that he would miss the efficiency.

He lied.

It was what he did best, after all.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They grew up much too quickly. He trained them brutally, as he needed them sharp and brilliant in everything they did. But they didn't resent him for it, which he never understood. In his solitary moments, he loathed Plagueis. But Maul looked at him with shining eyes, and Anakin took every opportunity to please him.

As preteens, they were already forces to be reckoned with. Judging by Anakin's driving, anyway. He suppressed a rather un-teacherly snicker when he caught sight of Maul's pale face and bared teeth as Anakin took the speeder into a steep dive. Maul had learned to fly several years ago, but the Zabrak did not relish it, just as Anakin did not relish the way the Zabrak lived to fight.

He personally loved the sensation, but he had always loved flying and racing, something he found in common between Anakin and himself. He tapped Anakin's shoulder reluctantly. "Pull us out, Anakin. We needn't draw more attention to ourselves than necessary. Remember what I taught you about dives."

Anakin grinned. "Of course, Master."

Maul looked at him in grateful, strangely green-tinted relief.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

One of Anakin's favorite memories was the time Father took him and Maul to a distant planet to train. He remembered the driving rain as they raced headlong, side by side, into the herd of panicking grazers, living in the sheer raw joy of the Force.

Maul tripped over Anakin's bostaff when Anakin overreached to strike his prey and ended up face first in a deep mud puddle. When the Zabrak lifted his head, black and red and now entirely brown, mud dripping from all his horns, Anakin couldn't help it. He laughed and laughed, and laughed some more, even when Maul tackled him into the same puddle.

When Father arrived and pulled them apart, he made them work twice as hard until their chests heaved for air in the thick musty environment and they felt like collapsing into the dirt. He radiated displeasure. But Anakin hid his own grin, because he had seen Father's.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Even as teenagers, Maul couldn't bring himself to resent Anakin. After Sidious had revealed the existence of the Sith Order and hinted at their coming importance, he asked Master about the Sith code, if all emotions were truly allowed. Master scoffed and agreed, pointing out with his usual biting wit how some were definitively less useful than others.

Maul disagreed about one of them. He thought sometimes that he would do anything for Master or Anakin. He was devoted to them. He wondered if that meant he loved them. They were the closest thing he had to a family.

Love.

Jedi weren't allowed to love.

So that made it okay for a Sith, right?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You still drive like a madman," Maul scowled and stuck out his tongue.

Anakin grinned darkly back at him. "You know you'd like it if you could just relax."

The bi-colored Zabrak twisted to look out the window of the small speeder and clenched the handle of his vibroblade. "You know Master doesn't like us relaxing. We're supposed to be training, making ourselves better all the time."

"Why?" Anakin scoffed, jerking the steering console to the right and sending Maul's stomach to the left. "So we can kill each other even more spectacularly in front of Plagueis when the time comes?" His sarcasm was biting in the Dark Side.

Maul stiffened, feeling the anger of his younger dark brother in the Force. "We don't know - "

"Sithspit!" Anakin interrupted him. "Search your feelings, Brother, you know it's true. It's what Plagueis wants. The best. And there can only be one 'best.'"

Maul turned away from him and slunk lower in his seat, determined to focus on the mission ahead of them and remove these doubts from his thoughts. _But does Master want it?_

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Senator Palpatine sat in his pod and watched the proceedings; although to others he looked attentive and grave as the Trade Federation squawked about the general unfairness of life, inside his thoughts were far away.

His boys – no, his students – were both young men now, teenagers each, strong in the Dark Side and vying for his attention though neither had turned on the other yet.

But that would change when Plagueis decided.

 _You've done it again,_ he fumed inwardly at himself. _You've gotten attached to them. You should have learned with Vidar Kim._ He didn't necessarily feel the savage joy he should have, when thinking of the struggle to come. He didn't relish the thought of Anakin or Maul dead on the floor, their life force leaking into the grates of the LiMerge complex while Plagueis chuckled overhead and the other boy's eyes gleamed like firelight.

He would much rather watch Plagueis's blood seep into the grating. The thought stuck in his craw like a poisonous whisper and didn't leave, not even when Sate Pestage gripped his shoulder and told him the session had long ended.

But an apprentice was loyal.

Up until the moment he wasn't.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The older they got, the harder he trained them. Anakin found himself breathless more often than not when they sparred in the lower levels of the LiMerge complex. He knew Maul was pushed even harder than him, being a couple years older. His brother never complained though, so he didn't either.

Father was breathtaking too, the way he could fight with one saber, two sabers, no sabers at all. Anakin wanted to be like him someday, like him and Maul. He was getting better each day, he knew that much at least.

Not good enough. He lost his balance when Father swept the training saber under his knees and held the humming blade to his throat.

"Again," was all Father said and pulled him to his feet with the Force.

But Anakin felt his brow twisting with worry.

Father sounded… urgent. Urgent and concerned, like something was coming and there wasn't enough time.

Like time was running out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He once read an old Jedi prophecy when his master instructed that he should understand his enemy. The prophecy spoke of a Chosen One who was meant to bring balance to the Force. Most of the time, Sidious laughed at the idea of prophecy.

He wasn't laughing now, when Plagueis's lightsaber was sliding into his shoulder with agonizing clarity.

He had stood up to him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He had not been prepared.

He should have turned on the youths and struck them down for their defiance to the Lord of the Sith, but the arrogant boys stood there side by side, refusing to give Plagueis what he wanted to see, and Sidious found himself turning against Plagueis instead.

He was still shocked he had done it. And viciously triumphant. Plagueis was his teacher, but never his master, and the old Muun now understood.

The lightsaber fight was brutal, his attention diverted half the time in seeking to keep his students alive. After all, what use would dead students be to him? He let the hatred loose against Plagueis, let all his anger and wrath and resentment of decades bubble up and explode through his fingers in chained lightning. Plagueis barely held him off, even in the Sith Master's prime.

But Plagueis had understood his weakness, as he had always understood, and the older Sith went after his charges. A feint, for when Sidious moved to cut him down before the towering humanoid could strike Anakin where he had fallen, he found Plagueis waiting and the lightsaber sliding into his muscles and bones. His nerve endings turned to liquid fire.

His soft cry when Plagueis tugged the blade free brought the Dark Side alive in Anakin and Maul both, and the Force trembled under their combined rage.

As he lay in agony on the grating, his own blood smoking out of him – ironically, for he had foreseen all but his own – Anakin and Maul joined forces against the Sith Master. They would not last, he knew they would not, so he marshalled the midichlorians in his cells, tasking them to take away the pain so that he could struggle silently to his feet.

Masking his presence in the Force, for he was just that – insidious, as Plagueis had always mockingly complimented him – he padded forward with his lightsaber off, his hand pressed tightly to the jagged, charred wound in his shoulder. Ahead, Plagueis batted Maul into the wall of the chamber with enough force to shatter bones – _mine, not yours_! – and he clenched his teeth when Anakin went up against the Muun alone.

The boy's screams as the Force Lightning tore through his flesh drove Sidious faster, closer, until he was at Plagueis's impossibly tall back. Sidious shoved the handle of his lightsaber into the small of that back and ignited it, the red blade blossoming through the Muun's thin body with a raging hum of satisfied bloodlust, jerking it up through the three hearts. It felt… so good.

He let his victory ring through the Dark Side.

Plagueis spasmed and roared and turned, clutching Sidious by the throat and lifting him high, twisting the blade out of his hand and breaking the fragile wrist under his fingers. Sidious hissed, knowing he would die then, wanting to look his teacher in the face and spit in his eye defiantly. He could feel the Muun fading, kept alive only through his desperate desire to see Sidious die with him. Plagueis would never have the satisfaction of seeing his grand design. Never.

Neither would he, which was unfortunate in hindsight. _If not power, then nothing._ He watched the Muun lift his blade high, winced as it began to lower, and then the blade was dropping harmlessly to the floor, biting into unfeeling durasteel. Plagueis looked at him, confused and snarling until his elongated head dropped forward and hit the floor with a dull thud. Sidious tumbled after him as the massive hand lost its grip. The Force howled with fiery purpose and left him nearly breathless, anointed to the position of Master at last.

Behind the Muun's fallen corpse, Anakin stood panting, the resilient boy he had always been, his vibroblade clutched tightly in his bloody hands. Sidious grinned. "You – you might have timed that better," he coughed and groaned at the fire in his shoulder.

Anakin threw the vibroblade to the floor, knelt at his side, and smiled darkly back. "You've always called me an overly dramatic teenager, Master. I'm only living up to your expectations." Impudent boy…

Maul crawled over. "Master! We are all alive." The Zabrak was panting, covered in lightsaber burns from the near misses, but his eyes were lit with fanatic devotion still.

Sidious let Anakin examine his shoulder. From the veiled horror on the boy's face, the arm might well be useless now. "So… so it would seem."

Anakin looked at him, solemn again. "This changes everything, Master."

Yes. Yes it did.

He should have berated them for such foolishness. He should have punished them. But he did not, because he could not find the energy, because they were all in this together.

He knew his eyes were glowing.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **A happy ending, I guess? It was originally meant to be pretty much pure fluff, but fluff and I have the strangest relationship sometimes. I enjoyed writing this unique AU. Once again, make sure you check out Brievel's version, called Dynasty. I think it's probably fluffier than mine by a good bit.**

 **Leave a review and let me know what you think! Hope you enjoyed it! :)**


	3. Defying Expectations Part 1

**.**

 **Infinite Possibilities**

 **Chapter 3: Defying Expectations Part I**

" _I ignore the expectations of others," Palpatine said without looking at him. – Darth Plagueis_

Very little mystified the Dark Lord of the Sith, so for Darth Plagueis, the feeling both startled and disconcerted him. He stood in Gladean Park, a game reserve just off the coast of Hanna City, Chandrila. The Force had led him to this point, his more corporeal sources pointing him to the Legisaltive Youth Program retreat where he could finally sow the seeds of young Palpatine's emancipation.

Except… the young, arrogant Naboo noble was nowhere to be found. According to his scornful roommate, who Damask snagged outside of the dormitories, Palpatine had never returned the night before from his sojourn into Hanna City with other ne'er do wells.

The Dark Lord and businessmuun strode to the viewing blind where he had been so certain that Palpatine would be, waiting for him, waiting for his destiny. Instead, he found only the mentor, Vidar Kim, and his black-haired companion, perhaps a lover or a student. He did not spend much time thinking about it as he approached.

Vidar Kim's face was curiously blank when Hego Damask inquired about Palpatine. Obviously, the human did not trust him, but Plagueis could sense that Kim had no more of an idea of Palpatine's whereabouts as anyone else. The older man was worried.

He politely dismissed himself from their company and retreated to his ship, where he meditated in the Dark Side and struggled to pinpoint the boy. The boy who could change everything.

The boy who he still was not certain possessed the Force. The boy who hid in the currents of the Force with effortless skill.

Three standard hours later, and Plagueis was no closer to finishing his task. When he inquired of the Force, it remained stagnant and unyielding. Something important had occurred, that much was clearly evident.

But what exactly escaped Plagueis.

With a curiously heavy heart, he returned to Muunilinst and his company. He returned to negotiations with the ambitious Veruna, but he lost the enthusiasm for Naboo, and Tapalo had lost the edge on his opponent. They were all going through the motions. A rare sense of indescribable loss lay heavy over his thin shoulders.

What was he supposed to do?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Cosinga raged for days when he learned of his firstborn's disappearance on Chandrila. He ordered every recording cam searched, every ship's log scrutinized. He threw his weight around as best he could and grew mortified as the Naboo media quickly picked up on the sensational story. The heir of House Palpatine: dead, alive, kidnapped, possibly run away?

Tapalo and Veruna and their ilk offered their condolences, but Cosinga knew they only missed the boy's critical inside information.

He loathed the way the whispers followed him, the clicking of women's tongues in sympathy and their idle chatter about his brokenhearted wife. Bremé had always been a frail woman; now she was nearly shattered with nerves, spending most of her days under the care of the nurse droids.

His other children… Well, Sheev's absence did not upset him so much as the fact that this was intensely embarrassing. A member of House Palpatine, running away like a common street performer. When he found the boy…

His other children lay as low as they could.

It wasn't enough.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Coruscant defied his expectations just as he had defied his father's. Palpatine barely kept his mouth shut when he first stepped off the grungy bottom rung of the freighter's ladder and stared at the frantic activity around him, endless layers of traffic and life and death and smoky, salty smells that simultaneously attracted and repulsed him.

It had cost the young teenager nearly everything he had, everything untraceable anyway, to get to this point. His credit chips, his bank accounts were useless to him as he was still a minor; they would trace any transactions straight to him.

And if Father found him this time…

That wouldn't happen. He would make sure of it. He reached down and picked up his suitcase from where the freighter's steward had unceremoniously tossed it. Fighting a scowl upon observing a new dent in it, he moved out from under the ship's wings and into the light of the Republic's beating heart.

His shaggy, unkempt head – such an uncivilized journey - twisted this way and that as he watched and dodged endless species of inhabitants. Never had he been to a planet so diverse, to a place so… fulfilling.

He belonged here. Something told him that with the clarity of the still small voice of his youth, but he tamped the feeling down quickly.

Here there were Jedi too, many of them and their Temple, brightly painful and gleaming in the distance. He had to be careful; he knew what he was. He knew they would not approve of his knowledge of Sith lore, of his search for power in old dusty tomes and inscrutable runes.

Hego Damask might have led him there somehow, to that place of power, but the Force whispered warnings. The visions of endless falling and searing light had kept him awake and tortured for nearly a week each night on Chandrila, to the point he had gotten so pale and listless that his companions worried he had caught a serious illness. It had been a simple matter to arrange an illicit night out in Hanna City with 'friends' and then catch a nondescript freighter outbound. Father would be speechless with anger, no doubt. But he didn't need Father. He didn't need the Muun or anyone else.

Here he stood, creditless and armed only with the knowledge that he was going to succeed.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Coruscant turned out much rougher than he had expected too. He barely survived his first year, falling in with an odd assortment of misfits and bottom feeders simply to survive. He had never lived hand-to-mouth before, though he had known starvation pangs, thanks to Father. It gave him the willpower to keep going when matters appeared hopeless. Somewhere back on Naboo, Father was helpless.

He resorted to pickpocketing and petty theft, using his cognition deftly and learning to shield his use of the Force through trial and error. That, and the knowledge he was slowly gaining from the tiny datachip in his pocket, the chip that contained all the information on the Sith he had gathered from the black markets during his life. One time a Jedi nearly caught him studying one of the pages on a public-access console; his heart did not slow down for days, and he became more careful and less impulsive, more meticulous.

Others tried to get close to him, but they always paused when they heard his other-world accented Basic, his courtly inbred manners and dignity. It made them curious, and he loathed curiosity in others. So he withdrew, interacting only when he needed to make a sale or strike a deal.

Some of them tried to hurt him in many different ways because they thought him thin and weak. He quickly learned to take care of himself and never really close his eyes. The first time he killed, he remembered the blood running from the man's thick sliced belly, the makeshift shank heavy in his hand, and he remembered the savage satisfaction like a drug in his veins. He had retched and dry heaved for what felt like hours, and then spent nearly a day curled in his niche on the underside of a lower level water storage tank.

When he had emerged, the fear was less. The hunger, greater. The ambition, greatest.

He stole an unattended swoop bike, his biggest theft yet on Coruscant (but it reminded him of his time in private school), and entered an illegal race. He crashed the bike on the fourth rotation, completely unprepared for the tight turns and unpredictable nature of Coruscant's underground racing market. He also broke his left leg, a loss much worse than the bike because it never healed perfectly right and gave him a permanent limp. He could not go to the doctors, or they would recognize him and ship him back.

But he learned and adapted. Learned to rebalance his weight and be more careful around the corners.

He stole again, and this time he managed to keep the bike and himself in one piece. He did not place first, but another racer noticed him, a jaunty, skinny slip of a woman who passed him a small credit purse with a wry grin. "You'll go far," she said knowingly. "You just need the opportunity."

He looked hard at her, wondering if she had _it_ too, but she disappeared into the motley crowd, leaving him clutching the purse and feeling like an idiot for hoping another might be like him.

There was no other like him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The first time Gnost found the scrawny little human in his entourage, the Ansionian nearly had a fit. The human – was it still a youngling? – had a calm, overconfident gleam in his strange blue eyes that Gnost simply couldn't trust. But his majordomo pulled him aside and told him, "This one might just impress you, Gnost. I've seen him race before on the deep level underground tracks. If he can survive the lower levels, he's a fighter."

"Humans don't have the skills or reflexes for high speed racing," Gnost scoffed.

"This one does."

Gnost grumbled and jerked his chin the direction of the track. "Then let's see what the kid can do. If I'm not impressed…"

"You will be."

Gnost grunted. "He'll be dead soon enough."

What surprised Gnost was not only the fact that the boy survived the race, but he managed to land a second place finish, failing only to beat Gnost's best veteran pilot. As the swoop bikes were cooling off under the overhang of his racing pit, their metal pinging and creaking, the scarred Ansonian sought out the new recruit.

He found him pulled away from the others in the shadowy corner, aloof from the celebratory backslapping and good natured rough-housing and watching everything with those eyes.

Gnost didn't particularly like those eyes.

But he couldn't deny the sheer talent slouched against the wall.

"What's your name?" the racing manager asked, folding his arms across his narrow ribcage.

The boy paused. "Frayne."

He waited for more; more wasn't coming. "Yeah?"

"It's enough," the lanky boy replied with a careless shrug.

Gnost squinted. "You a runaway? I ain't taking runaways."

Frayne studied him in return, a slow smile gracing his thin lips. "I'm old enough to decide my own fate. You saw me race, you decide."

Gnost wanted to cuff him upside the head for his insolence, but the ragged boy spoke true; Gnost rarely witnessed raw skill like he did today. He would be a fool to pass this opportunity up. He cleared his throat, still trying to keep control of the conversation and somehow knowing he was failing.

"Food and board and half your winnings," he grunted.

Frayne lifted his chin. "Half?"

Gnost felt anger tightening his muscles. "Half, or you can go back to the streets and keep fighting to stay alive. I'll find someone else."

There. Frayne blinked, and then he nodded. "All right."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Jag Marqay considered racing his best chance to win. To get out. He was not exceptional, but he was good, and he knew it. The young Weequay laughed his way through the underlife of Coruscant, never dreaming that his fortunes could change beyond a comfortable if not steady lifestyle under the leadership of his manager, Gnost.

When he met the young human with the shaggy red fur on his head and a noticeable limping gait, nothing changed for Jag, at least not immediately. They were going to be roommates since Jag's last partner had been arrested for deathstick abuse and marketing, and the boy seemed uncertain about the whole idea. Jag noticed how on edge he seemed, how his blue eyes gleamed with complete mistrust, and he knew instantly: a street dweller. They always took time to settle in. Half wild, some never did.

This one showed promise, although Gnost seemed to take a particular delight in torturing him, giving him the hardest jobs on the team, the most dangerous posts. Jag figured it was because the boy refused to back down when Gnost challenged him. The aging racing manager hated it when beings challenged his authority or second guessed him. In one case, the boy had been right about one of the courses; Gnost hadn't listened and lost three decent drivers to a rigged track. Gnost had been furious for days.

Jag tried to reach out to his new partner. Did he have any family? No. (At least none that he would admit to, Jag thought.) Had he always lived on Coruscant? None of Jag's business. (Jag snorted, obviously not, the boy's foreign accent was thick.) What did he want to do with his life? Race. (That wasn't quite it; he was too intelligent to settle there.) Jag quickly realized that his efforts were unappreciated and unwanted.

But he was intrigued now, and when Jag Marqay took interest in someone, well, he didn't just give up because of a lack of communication. The kid would come around eventually when he realized Jag was no threat to him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Two years later, Jag noticed a curious pattern. The more Gnost allowed him to race, and the more Frayne began to win his races, the more reclusive the human became, as though fearing some sort of reprisal. Jag also spotted a curious flair for the dramatic, a talent for showmanship to draw in the curious onlookers and potential sponsors. At the same time, he avoided the rare cam droids so far below.

Once, at the end of a particularly brutal swoop race with a rival racing group, one of the opposing drivers had shouted at Frayne, "You're a bloody phantom menace, that's what you are!" while being carried off the track on a stretcher. The Weequay glanced back at Frayne and saw a slow, satisfied smile creeping across the thin face.

Within weeks, Frayne's swoop bike had been repainted a glossy black with wispy drifts of crimson red, _Phantom Menace_ scrawled across the sides in a ghostly script. Shortly after, Frayne had produced a helmet that completely concealed his face, and he began never taking it off in public. Jag grinned; the ploy was perfect. All the up-worlders who sank to these levels to see scandal and experience excitement were thrilled with the mysterious and flamboyant racer.

The Phantom Menace blossomed. Jag knew when he was outclassed; the kid had an almost supernatural talent for navigating the racing tracks. His wins were raking in the credits for Gnost and making the other pilots talk. Some of the older ones approached Gnost and demanded that Frayne's arrogance be reined in. Gnost laughed, agreed, cuffed Frayne in front of the others when he tried to protest, and then did very little about it. After all, this little theatrical racer was profitable.

Jag shivered at the anger he saw in those eyes. The kid needed a friend, not more manipulation.

In two long and difficult years, Jag imagined that he might someday be that friend. Frayne still spoke too little and saw too much, but Jag didn't care. His own life was going nowhere. He had nothing to hide.

But Frayne did, that much was obvious.

"How old are you anyway, Frayne?" Jag asked late one evening, when they had been lying in their beds talking about the latest swoop models.

Frayne stiffened, his hands clenching at his sides. "What difference does that make? I race well enough."

Jag shrugged carelessly. "It doesn't. You do. I was just wondering."

Half a standard hour later, the young human looked over at him, eyes bright with suspicion and something a little less hostile. "Twenty."

Jag grinned.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You look like you picked a fight with a Dug."

Palpatine glared at Jag but couldn't muster the energy to snipe back as he dragged himself to his bunk and crawled in. Couldn't muster the energy to shower or change, he just wanted to sleep.

His rage had taken him again, sparked off by the superior attitude of one of Halta's prized racers in the Outlander Club. Afterwards, in the dark alleyway just beyond Gnost's headquarters, the racer found him again and demanded he retract his insults.

Palpatine smiled and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. He would have easily won if Halta's pet hadn't brought reinforcements to the party, including – he noted with dry amusement – a bad tempered Dug. He'd only barely been able to hold back the dark power he knew that dwelled just under the surface. It wouldn't do to give his game away for a street fight.

Well, with any luck, one of Halta's best racers would be in a coma for a while; at least he certainly wouldn't be racing in the next championship round, which improved Palpatine's own chances. He smirked through the pain: a nice silver lining.

Jag crossed the small room and came to stand over him. "Stars, you look terrible, kid."

"Don't call me that," he muttered.

"Easy," Jag seemed unconcerned, moving to their common sink and wetting a rag. He came back and tossed it on Palpatine's face. Hissing at the sting of the cold water, the young Naboo dragged it carefully over his eyes and nose, noting with clinical detachment how much blood there was.

Jag looked down at him. "You need the medkit?" He peered closer. "Amazing, I don't think your nose is broken."

Palpatine tentatively felt it; no, not broken. And he still had all his teeth. Lucky him. Most of the blood was coming from a vertical gash over his left cheekbone. The knife had bitten deeper than he thought. He pressed the rag harder to slow the bleeding.

His roommate pulled up a chair and sat next to him, and even a short while ago Palpatine might have protested, but Jag had become a strange fixture in his life. Stubborn too.

"You're getting a reputation out there, you know, and not just for your racing skills. It's almost like you want to fight."

He rolled his eyes at the Weequay. "I could do without the five-on-one."

Jag grinned. "Bet you almost won."

"You'd bet right," he grumbled and turned to face the wall.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **This is a 7-part AU based off Palpatine's thoughts about becoming a racer in** _ **Darth Plagueis**_ **, and other clues about his troublemaker personality growing up. It is completely written, so I'll be updating it regularly as we go. I have ridiculous amounts of fun wondering "what if."**


	4. Defying Expectations Part 2

**.**

 **Infinite Possibilities**

 **Chapter 4: Defying Expectations Part II**

When Frayne turned twenty-one, he left the mask behind and began to show his face in public again. Jag noticed how the females started watching him with open interest, enamored by the mysterious Phantom. Jag also noticed how he started playing back, his hard smirk turning a little more flirtatious. Somehow Jag sensed this was only another persona, since Frayne still showed up late each night to their room and folded himself, alone, into his small bunk.

Jag wondered at the reason for the sudden change in style, particularly when he woke up one morning a month later and found half a dozen Holonet reporters standing outside Gnost's headquarters.

Amid a flash of lights, one reporter shouted, "Are you his manager?"

Jag blinked. "What? Look, I'm not anyone's-"

A datapad was shoved under his nose, showing a bold headline of some foreign correspondence: PHANTOM MENACE REVEALED: NABOO'S OWN SHEEV PALPATINE! Jag blinked doubly hard at the title, uncomprehending. Sheev Palpatine? Who was that? He voiced his question dully.

"The missing eldest son of a Naboo noble house," another reporter called. "You didn't know?"

"Are you his roommate?" a third chirped. "They say his roommate is a Weequay."

Jag backpedaled in alarm and slammed the door shut on their cries. His head was spinning. Of course, he'd always known Frayne – Sheev – was hiding something, but this was bigger than he expected. A noble? A runaway noble?

He found Fray- Palpatine still in the room, scrubbing stains off his Shaak-leather racing harness. He eased into the chair at his desk. Nonchalant. He could do this. "So, Sheev, seems we've got a bit of a press problem."

The young human glanced up, expression carefully blank at the use of his given name. "Are you angry?"

Jag realized that he really wasn't. Everyone lied to protect themselves on the underside of Coruscant. He shrugged. "Always wondered where you got your fancy table manners."

Palpatine looked at him. "It's only going to get worse."

Jag leaned back and crossed his arms. "I guess your family's not too pleased about it."

"I defy the expectations of others," he replied quietly.

They sat in companionable silence for a long moment, the only sounds the squeaks of the leather as it slowly rubbed clean.

"Can I call you Palpster?" Jag asked hopefully, scratching at his horns.

"No."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Cosinga did not often travel away from Naboo. His interests lay with Theed and the crown, not faraway places that felt nothing like his homeworld. He liked stability. He liked solidness.

He loathed that his son was intent on ruining his good family name.

This was the only reason he found himself standing near the finish line of a slimy track on a slimy planet in the Outer Rim, rubbing shoulders with countless slimy aliens of species he didn't even bother to recognize. One with five eyestalks was standing particularly close, exuding a foul scent. He shuddered and covered his nose with his sleeve as he waited.

He should have waited in the private boxes further up the viewing area, but he had to see his son.

Soon the roar of the engines announced the arrival of the foremost competitors. Cosinga watched, glaring, as the Phantom Menace's stark black speeder bike ripped past to the throaty screams and delight of his audience. He watched his son bring the ugly thing to a halt and slide off, caked with grime and smiling at a squealing, - light purple?! – humanoid female who ran to him and threw her arms around him.

Sheev held her back for a moment, his lake-blue eyes scanning the crowd. Then they landed on Cosinga and darkened, but not with surprise. With a growing sense of unease, Cosinga watched as his son drew the Theelin close and kissed her hungrily. The Theelin seemed surprised but pleased, and catcalls and whistles rose from the crowd. A few holocams flashed.

Cosinga burned with rage. This was all a show; he could recognize his son's theatrics from a kilometer away. He barely managed to swallow back his horror and indignation. What did Sheev think he was doing with a Theelin? The elder Palpatine squared his shoulders and shoved his way through the crowd until he stood before the couple.

"Are you mad?" he growled without preamble.

Sheev lifted his head, the Theelin protesting softly. "Father. So good of you to come." He smirked. "I didn't think you cared."

"I don't," Cosinga hissed, pleased when he saw his son's eyes darken with true anger.

"Then why come?" Palpatine asked, still quiet and barely audible over the idling engines.

"I came to bring you home, where you belong."

Palpatine shook his shaggy head, urging the Theelin gently back into the watching crowd. She went gladly enough. "Oh no, Father. I'm never going back with you. I'm done playing your games."

Cosinga's face was quickly beginning to match the Theelin's skin tone. "And you think I'm going to play yours now? You always were an arrogant little fool. You will come back, and you _will_ learn your place."

Palpatine smiled, though it was more like a snarl. "Not anymore, Father. Even Naboo's archaic emancipation laws won't help you now."

Cosinga laughed harshly and waved at the crowd. "You think this will help you? I'll disown you, boy, and you'll die without a credit to your name in some dark alley. They'll forget you before long. You're just a novelty. A passing fancy. Without me, you're nothing. Do you hear me?"

Palpatine stepped a little closer, eyes calm and cold. He spoke too low for the crowd to hear. "Without you, Father, I am everything. A pity you won't live long enough to see it."

Cosinga slapped him hard without a thought. Only seconds later, he realized the Holonet cameras were still running. By the gods… had his own son set this up? Sheev was smiling strangely, triumphantly.

Cosinga waited, but Sheev only dipped his head in response. "Disown me, Father. Do whatever you like, because you don't matter anymore."

He felt the strong grip of multiple track security guards around his arms, pulling him away from his son. "You'll regret this!" Cosinga shouted, blinded by rage, as they took him away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Darth Plagueis sat up and took notice when he learned that Sheev Palpatine had been discovered as one of Coruscant's greatest racers, the elusive Phantom Menace. Four years later, he mused, and he still could not determine whether the Force was with the boy. He studied the lean figure as it joked and flirted with the Holonet reporter.

Palpatine was still fairly small and scrappy, but there was a fell light in his eyes that spoke of experience and ambition. Plagueis mourned the loss of that ambition, but Palpatine repeatedly told reporters that his only desire was to race. His informants told him the young Naboo had even rebuffed the considerable bribes of his father to restore the family's honor. The elder Palpatine was horrified and embarrassed by the career of his son.

Plagueis sighed. His last effort to meet with the young racer had been summarily rebuffed. Palpatine would last until he fell afoul of some crime syndicate, of the Hutts perhaps, and then his shooting star would be snuffed out. He felt curiously bereft at the thought. What a loss, if the boy had the Force on his side.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Jag wandered into their room, feeling restless and excited. The big race on Malastare was coming, three months away. He already felt jittery all through his bones, as though the air itself were electrified. This was their breakout, their chance to get away from Gnost, from the ugly underbelly of Coruscant. Predictably, he found Palpatine tucked up on his bunk, seemingly unconcerned and curled around a real, old fashioned tome. Jag grinned and jumped up on his own bed, swinging his legs.

He waited for a long moment, but nothing happened. Time to take matters into his own hands. "Heyyup, Palpster, what's going on in here?"

A bushy red eyebrow arched and an eye flickered in his direction. "I'm reading, Jag. Novel idea, I know."

"Hah, funny human. No need to get defensive, buddy." He perched on the end of the steel frame. "Just… not many racers read, you know? Other than the manuals." He craned his long neck to try to see the book.

"Law?" He laughed. "What's that for, smart guy?"

Palpatine finally closed the book and glared at him, but there wasn't the usual ire there. Not anymore. "Not really your business, is it?"

"Well no, but I'm curious now," Jag grinned to show he meant nothing by it. Just good ol' Jag prying relentlessly into everything that wasn't his business.

Palpatine appraised him openly, then sighed. "It's good information to know."

"I bet," Jag nodded, "but you've got something in mind."

Palpatine's lips twitched with the beginnings of a smirk. "Maybe."

Jag glanced around the small room. "Got any room for a friend?"

The smirk graduated to a faint smile. "You any good with numbers?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The competition on Malastare went better than Palpatine or Jag expected. Palpatine knew he would win, he had foreseen it, but he had not foreseen the sheer number of sponsors that crowded forward to offer their support to the unmasked Phantom Menace. He realized with some surprise that he was practically a celebrity, even outside the circles of underworld Coruscant. Even the Hutts seemed highly interested; this was an excellent development.

His public showdown with his father had only given him an edge that drew them all closer. Everything was proceeding as he had planned it. So far, so good. He had to be careful though. His studies told him the Force was fickle, not to be blindly trusted.

He also had not foreseen Jag winning second place, or the less enthusiastic but still considerable support offered to the Weequay.

He sensed Gnost's explosion long before it happened, when they told the old Ansionian of their intentions to separate and form their own racing corps. Gnost raged up and down his opulent quarters (opulent because of _him_ )and accused Palpatine of backstabbing him, of turning his back on a strong career. He bemoaned the loss of funds, the agreement they had together.

Palpatine eyed him. "I don't need you to have a strong career."

Gnost purpled and lashed out, intending as usual to put his young street pup in its place. Palpatine scowled and ducked under the lazy swing, then brought his own fist up in a hard strike that laid Gnost on his back, clutching at his bleeding single nostril.

The racing manager stared up, dazed, and Palpatine moved in, gripping him by the lapels of his outlandish tunic and driving him to the floor with another swift punch. Gnost raised both hands, frightened by this sudden, silent attack and whimpering for mercy.

Palpatine wanted to kill him then, for being so pitiful, for every cuff he had endured and belittling mockery. He thought he could do it, too, maybe even without touching the humanoid. He raised one of his hands, could almost see the throat between his curling fingers, and then Jag was stepping forward. He could sense the Weequay's fright and concern. It grounded the hungry rage in his chest, talked him down from some infinite cliff only he could see.

"Hey, let it go. He's beat. He's down," Jag cajoled, his gravelly voice rumbling by his ear.

Palpatine looked down at the moaning racing manager, dispassionate and already feeling his interest fade. This scum wasn't worth it; he had the future to look to. "In the future, Gnost, perhaps consider treating your new recruits a little more respectfully. The next one may not choose to spare you."

Jag tugged at his arm. "Come on, Palpster, let's get out of here."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Cosinga glared at the holodisplay as though he could melt it into parts with his scowl alone. Beside him, Lady Palpatine watched the screen, entranced, as her oldest child tore through the difficult desert track in a customized blood red swoop bike, narrowly avoiding disaster several times on the sharp turns and aggressive opponents.

His family named blared brightly in lights from the top of the track. His good family name, dragged through the dirt of… racing… Sheev had boldly trotted it out, and Cosinga knew why. His son was out to embarrass him, and it was working.

Cosinga cursed tiredly. "If he kills himself, I'll not be surprised." But the boy was twenty-five now, far too old to retrieve even by strict Naboo emancipation laws. Why did he even bother to watch? The boy would be sent home in a box one of these times. What was left of him.

He studied his son and tried not to let the helpless anger take him. His son was still skinny and all sharp edges, but he was slowly filling out with lean muscle. He studied the tell-tale hunch of the narrow shoulders, the clear set when Sheev Palpatine took on the world and didn't really care how bloodied he would end up. "Stubborn fool," Cosinga seethed.

Cosinga nearly spit out his sarip tea when his son leapt off the slowing swoop bike, first across the line as usual, and was instantly surrounded by an adoring throng pouring down from the stadium seating. He watched Sheev break through the raving crowd with a bright blue, shapely, laughing Twi'lek female held loosely in each arm, dusty goggles pushed back on his head, shaggy red hair covered in a thick layer of grit. Sheev looked almost directly at the Holonet cam droid, almost into his father's eyes lightyears away, and tossed off a jaunty salute.

The reporter on the Holonet nearly swooned.

Cosinga knew it was meant for him.

He fumed helplessly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You're as manipulative as a Solotton snake, Palpster," Jag laughed, slinging a long arm around the human's narrow shoulders. Nine years of rooming together and working together had finally inured the sensitive human to his physical quirks. Not that that meant he put up with them for long…

Palpatine scowled and pushed the heavy arm away. "Hardly that. He simply owed me money." He paused, the stiff formality sliding away into a self-satisfied smirk. "A significant amount of money."

Jag grinned. "Everyone owes you something, friend. You've got a spoon in every bowl of fleek eel soup this side of the Inner Rim. I can hardly believe it was only four years ago we ditched Gnost, and now you're one of the best known racing managers on the Outer Rim."

Palpatine looked sideways at him. "I have connections."

His manager paused. "You know… you have a funny way of phrasing things sometimes. I think it comes from your highborn nature."

Palpatine appeared surprised, a rare expression and fleeting, before his features settled back into their usual smug contentment.

Jag offered a smirk of his own. "You try to hide it by being all aloof and everything, but it's kinda obvious. Everyone knows who you are now, but even if not, your mannerisms give you away. It's always going to be obvious you weren't born in the Outer Rim, and you certainly weren't raised as one of us, as much as you try."

"Well," Palpatine said.

Jag's smirk morphed into a grin. "Secret's safe with me, Palpster. All of 'em." He had seen the way Palpatine effortlessly convinced even his most stolid opponents. Unnatural like. It made him wonder sometimes.

For a moment, Palpatine stared intently at his manager before turning his gaze away to the speeder bikes spread out alongside them.

Then he replied, off-handed, still looking away. "You really shouldn't call me that."

Jag was not a suspicious Weequay by any means, but he could swear he felt a shiver down his spine, like ghosts had walked across his back.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Poor Jag, having to put up with all this family craziness. I'm sure he thinks Naboo are weird people, even for humans. I was intrigued by Naboo's emancipation laws in** _ **Darth Plagueis.**_ **Evidently one is a minor until they are 21 years old. And I wouldn't put it past Cosinga to try to control his son, even then.**

 **Leave a review, if you'd like. I enjoy them.**


	5. Defying Expectations Part 3

**.**

 **Infinite Possibilities**

 **Chapter 5: Defying Expectations Part III**

He celebrated his thirtieth life day on Coruscant itself, although this time he didn't dwell in the shadows. Instead, he held it in one of the city's finest convention halls. Hundreds of his fans and sponsors attended, even the exceptionally rotund Jabba the Hutt who rarely made it a habit to leave the criminal safety of Tatooine.

Palpatine knew the game well and made certain his drink and food tables were overflowing, his recruiters alert and well trained. Only a few short months ago, he had delved into developing his own line of heavily modified Flare-S swoop bikes, and now a gleaming row of them sat perched on the center stages, each with their own accompanying, and equally beautiful, assistant.

All in all, everything was going… quite well. He glanced at the far side of the closest stage where a group of a dozen senators mingled and shared their glorious stories of bygone youth. He knew they viewed him as a rich young eccentric Outer Rim novelty, certainly not a threat to their own comfortable positions and wealth. He liked it that way. Even the fact that he came from Naboo nobility only made them think of him as provincial at best.

Some enjoyed stomping their ways through the upper echelons of high society, flaunting their new wealth to old blood, but not him. He much preferred when friend and foe alike took him less seriously. When they let him slide into their deals and minds and dreams. Let them think he was a mindless pilot who happened to strike it rich. A lucky human.

He grinned. Luck had nothing to do with it.

But they didn't need to know that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Force had a strange habit of upending one's plans, and yet Palpatine was not surprised at all when Vidar Kim walked hesitantly into his office.

"Why did you come?" Palpatine asked quietly, watching the swoops tear around the track on the holographic image suspended above his desk. He noted absently that his bets would pay off well on this one… very well, indeed.

Vidar Kim had eyes only for his former charge. The older man was still amazed at everything around him and the seemingly endless wealth. "You don't belong here, Sheev." His voice adopted a tone of faint, Naboo disdain. "This glitzy glamorous life of fast swoops and wild living isn't you. I know you wanted more."

Palpatine pinned him with a pale gaze. Of any man still living in this galaxy, he could perhaps speak most frankly with his old mentor. Kim had never judged him, even when they firmly disagreed on matters of life and politics. For that, he owed him something perhaps. "I once did, but how do you know I still do, Senator? I've done well for myself, haven't I?"

"If money and under-the-table influence is all that matters to you," Kim sighed. "You're not really a racer, Palpatine. You're an academic. Look around yourself," he waved at the endless datapads and books. "You think racers live like this? You think racers devour law books and argue circles around the sharpest minds in the Intergalactic Banking Clan? You've made deals and cornered the racing market like no one else. Not even the criminal cartels."

Palpatine didn't reply. He didn't bother to enlighten Kim about his more clandestine operations.

"Come home," the other man urged. "Your father is dead. Your mother wants to see you again before she dies. That mind of yours is built for politics, and with your business savvy, you'll be able to outthink your opponents easily."

Palpatine leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "The plasma reserves."

"Exactly, you know the deals with Damask Holdings fell through. We have half a dozen other anoobas biting at the chance to take over and exploit us. The new king is ill-advised, though well-meaning, but he can't handle the Trade Federation and the others. We need someone who can manage them effectively, who can do what's right for Naboo. I've been watching you, Sheev, the deals you make, the skills you have."

"If I return," Palpatine said, slowly drawing himself straight behind the desk, "If I return, there are certain considerations that must be made…"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The people of Naboo were ready for change. The failure of Tapalo to win the monarchy all those years ago had led to the installation of the Naboo conservative party. Cosinga Palpatine had earned favor through his mistress and occupied the position of Governor of Theed for several years, his inept handling of the city leading to endless complaints and mutterings, debt, blackmail, and fraud charges that would keep the High Court busy for years.

Palpatine was never so thankful for his public split with his father. He only regretted not being able to hasten Cosinga on his way into Chaos, but Cosinga's heart had failed him in a fit of pique on a hunting trip in the mountain range above the Lake Country. The return journey had taken much too long to save his wretched hide.

The people of Naboo were ready for change, and Cosinga was dead, which was the only reason Palpatine found himself setting foot on his homeworld once more. He glanced over the rounded tops of the city's stone dwellings as he disembarked the starship. He had never liked conservative, traditional Theed.

On his arrival, he greeted his mother for appearance's sake, a suitably tragic little reunion, but she was quickly sinking into depressed oblivion, robbed of her purpose for living, and Palpatine felt little obligation to give her another chance in his life. He would have her retired quietly to Convergence and put her out of his mind, and when she passed, he would sell the old mansion all too gladly.

The new king was eager to cement the loyalty of the ancient noble houses, which meant Palpatine was quickly offered the position of premier economic advisor. He knew from his experience managing his own vast company that credits ruled kings and queens, even emperors, and he determined to be the one ruling the credits.

Maybe even the people someday.

The Force opened endless and promising when he attempted to look.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As the premier economic advisor, Palpatine found himself bored and restless. The job would have had his father's eyes glowing with jealousy, but Palpatine was not satisfied. He must have hid it well, because the King of Naboo was stunned when Palpatine humbly asked for nothing more but the opportunity to represent Naboo's interests in the Senate. Vidar Kim was retiring comfortably and threw his entire support behind Palpatine's bid. The king granted his request, although he appeared somewhat perplexed as the job was considered a step down on Naboo.

Palpatine still chuckled at the memory. His people were always so suspicious of outsiders… it was really a very foolish mentality. Outsiders were rich resources. Endless opportunities.

Thirty-five and confident, already wealthy from his racing management and renowned for his expert handling of the controversial plasma reserves, Palpatine stepped back onto Coruscant, this time as a politician, and made an immediate splash.

He'd had his eye on the Chancellorship for years now. Individuals like Darus made the office weak and ineffective; he knew it had once been much more powerful, and he intended that it be so again. He began to meet often with other senators, to wine and dine the finest of the galaxy. If he had merely been Senator of Naboo, some backwater provincial, they would not have deigned to look at him. As it was, his colorful and mysterious reputation as the galaxy's most famous racing entertainment manager caught their eyes and drew them in.

He regaled them with snippets of stories, entranced them with the rough charm he had learned on the streets. He was a celebrity, a rare blend of raw and cultured political savvy. He pulled on his connections with the Gran of Malastare, reminded them of the thriving podracing community that operated so smoothly there and raked in billions of credits. He reminded members of the Trade Federation how Naboo's plasma reserves were some of the largest ever discovered, how he might be open to continuing negotiations if they showed good faith.

His fame continued to grow. In the meantime, he continued to perform his dual roles as Senator of Naboo and premier racing manager. It was good practice to keep one's eyes open for new talent.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When Darth Plagueis discovered that Sheev Palpatine was Naboo's latest senator, his jaw fell open. He glanced at Venamis' tank and back to the Holonews. He had, honestly, thought the boy would wash up as a racing manager in the crime riddled Outer Rim. Now here he was, young, strong, and growing more powerful, rubbing shoulders with Senators and Chancellors. He wondered if the time might be right… but the Force stayed quiet when he inquired. So he determined to wait and cautiously feel the situation out. Soon he would have all the time in the worlds, if his experiments continued to show such promise.

But hope of a swifter revenge on the galaxy was rekindled in his dark thoughts, and he began to tug on long-neglected strings.

And as the years ticked by, he watched the up and coming senator of Naboo very, very closely.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Jag was a patient Weequay. He had to be when working for the irritable and unpredictable Sheev Palpatine. His employer, almost ten years a senator, an accomplished man, and somewhat of a loner, was also Jag's dearest friend, making it difficult to abandon him to the political wolves of the galaxy. Jag thought of 'Frayne' and smiled. Someone still had to look out for the kid. Who would have thought it?

Humans were so dramatic, which was why he found himself on a backwater planet called Tatooine, looking for fresh talent in racing. Beside him, a massive Weequay by name of Borse stumped along, his perpetually grim horned face pointed at the ground.

"When's the next race?" Jag asked.

"Two weeks."

"Two?" Jag twisted his head to stare at Borse. "You think the boss has two weeks to wait around for a kid that might or might not be alive by tomorrow? And a slave to boot?"

Borse coughed. "He's good. Really good."

"He's patient, but not that patient, clan-brother," Jag cautioned.

The other Weequay laughed. "This kid is worth waiting for. I've seen him race. The only human to podrace. Or… ha! At least try and not get killed anyway."

Jag thought about it. In most cases, he would be impressed, all right. But this was Palpatine; nothing impressed Palpatine. Two weeks in racing terms was like a year for most other sentients. Things changed on the playing field in a heartbeat, sometimes literally.

If Palpatine wasted his time watching some foolheaded seven-year-old kid get killed on a track (he'd heard of kids starting younger, but… seven years!), he could miss out on the next promising, real racer. Jag winced. Olag or Martello would jump at the chance to get a step ahead of the uppity senator and top racing manager in the known galaxy. They'd be drooling like a pack of wild anoobas to make a move on his turf.

"What promises can you make me?" he demanded.

Borse blinked his heavy set eyes and rubbed at his chin horns. "No promises, but a really good feeling, Jag. He'll be a fool to pass it up."

"He's no fool." The words came automatically. They were true though; Jag decided he would tell Palpatine and let the human decide on his own. If worst came to worst, well, at least Jag would be in the clear.

"I'll be in touch."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The race had been, for lack of a better word, stunning. The boy had not won, but his talent was obvious to see.

Palpatine sat back in his chair and motioned to Anakin to take a seat across from him in his private box above Jabba's track. The small dusty slave boy took it with a vague expression of disbelief, as if stunned to be treated in such a way by a free being.

"You race well," he told him gently.

Anakin's eyes grew large. "I like racing, Mister. I mean… Senator."

The little squirt didn't even know what a senator was, he thought dryly. "I can tell. You have very good reflexes." He watched the boy's eyes dart around the room with a lively intelligence. Almost too lively, he thought, and imagined that Anakin somehow seemed much older than his seven years. He paused. _I wonder…_

"Anakin, I have a very important question for you," he said, leaning forward and folding his hands primly in his lap. "When you race, do you see things… before they happen?"

The slave stared at him in horror, a curious reaction.

"I won't hurt you," he finally offered when no reply seemed forthcoming.

"Mom said I shouldn't tell anyone," came the murmured response after Anakin buried his head between his knees.

As good as a 'yes,' Palpatine thought, and felt curiously excited. Another like him, forgotten or missed by the Jedi Order and glowing with the Force because he didn't need shields like Palpatine had needed them, not out here on a Force-forsaken planet in the Outer Rim. He thought of his own racing career and realized that this could be a very worthwhile investment indeed.

"Anakin," he drawled after a long pause. "How would you like to become a professional racer?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The slave owner, Watto, was a Toydarian, immune to any special attempts to sway him into a bargain, so Palpatine let his credits and his reputation talk for him. Anakin was expensive, but he knew the worth of the boy as he had known his own. He haggled down to a respectable price for the boy and mentally made a note to have the deactivated explosive surgically removed once they were off Tatooine.

He stood, intending to be done, but Anakin tugged on his sleeve and whimpered, "Mom?"

Palpatine froze for a moment. He had forgotten about the mother. He held no such attachments for his own weak mother, but somehow he knew Anakin would refuse to leave her behind. He sighed and turned back to Watto. "And the mother too."

Watto growled. "I like the mother. She does good work."

Palpatine leveled him with a cold stare. "She'll do good work for me then, I'm sure."

Still Watto stalled, and finally Palpatine interrupted him sharply. "Look, I understand you need good help. So do I. I propose we help each other. You see, you shall sell me the mother, and I shall let my colleagues in the racing venue know that Watto's business is reliable." He allowed the threat to sink in and watched as Watto nervously flapped his wings.

"Fine," the tusked slave owner ground out. "Fine, you take her. You big guys, always coming in and steamrolling us little folks…" he turned, muttering, to fetch the woman.

He barely noticed her the first time he saw her, a plain, tired slave. It wasn't until he was back on his own ship, offering them tea in the lounge, that he finally realized he had a woman and her son on his hands. As a Naboo and Republic politician, he certainly couldn't own slaves. He found the idea faintly repugnant anyway.

So he told them they were free and watched the grateful tears slide down her face. She looked like she had not cried in years, like it was awkward and painful. It certainly was for him, anyway, to sit and look anywhere but at her. He occupied himself with thoughts of which schools Anakin could attend. He wouldn't have an illiterate racer under his personal patronage… perhaps a private tutor would be best until Anakin had caught up with his peers.

Finally she managed to catch his eye, her own eyes dark and brown and honest, too honest. How had such a soft-hearted wretch survived this long out here?

"Thank you," she said.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Even though Palpatine takes the racer route in this AU, we can't forget his telling moment in** _ **Darth Plagueis**_ **when he admits to Plagueis that he wants to** _ **rule.**_ **Hence my interpretation here is that Palpatine is merely finding another route to achieve what he originally wanted, as he is wont to do when obstacles arise. Of course, he may have hit a small snag along the way…**

 **I love hearing the feedback of my readers, so feel free to leave a review.**


	6. Defying Expectations Part 4

**.**

 **Infinite Possibilities**

 **Chapter 6: Defying Expectations Part IV**

It was difficult at first, finding a use for her. While Anakin adapted very well to his new surroundings, particularly himself and Jag, Shmi Skywalker remained quiet and unsure. He sat her down in his office once they reached Coruscant and grilled her.

Did she read?

No, she was a slave. No writing either. And typing was out of the question.

He had thought of making her an assistant, a secretary, but those plans appeared to be going down in flames like his first speederbike. Well, what could she do then?

"I cook and clean very well," she announced shyly, and he blinked. He had droids to do such menial tasks. This wasn't backwater Tatooine, covered in dust and sand.

When he told her as much, her eyes dropped and he could sense her quiet despair, hidden behind the strong front. And she was strong, at least, he had finally understood within the first few days of hosting her. She had survived the Hutts and Tatooine, with her head held high and her dignity intact. Knowing the Hutts as he did, that was saying something.

It still didn't explain why he leaned forward and told her that he was, however, looking for a custodian and caretaker for his office since his favorite droid had malfunctioned. A human could serve until a suitable replacement had been found.

It certainly didn't explain the strangely satisfied feeling in his chest when she brightened and accepted his offer. What did it matter to him? It would make Anakin happy at least and allow the boy to focus on his racing instead of uselessly worrying over his mother.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He never did end up finding a replacement for his droid.

Her schedule was timed for the afternoon and late evening, and he eventually came to look forward to her arrival at his office. Her mild presence was calming. The first few weeks, she did little but clean, emptying trash and dusting around his priceless collection of artifacts (he snapped at her when she almost touched one of them). Then one day, she caught him drinking tea and offered to make it for him the next time.

He let her, curious to see what she could do, if she might perhaps save him a bit of time, and the tea was nearly perfect, brewed to the right thickness. He never enjoyed tea when droids prepared it: far too mechanical and tasteless.

It became their ritual within a month of her employment and something he decided was to his satisfaction. It turned out she was quite intelligent, though uneducated, and she could hold a sharp whip in her quiet tongue.

He liked that too.

One late afternoon, when she meekly berated him for working too late, he stood up and found his cloak. "What are you waiting for?" he asked after limping to the door, turning and looking at her. "I'm hungry. We're eating. Come on."

She stared at him, stunned.

He led her to Mok's Cheap Eats, a hole in the wall near the Works where factory workers flocked but rarely anyone more, where no one would recognize him, and they talked until night had long fallen and the restaurant was nearly empty. He learned about her life before Watto, and it intrigued him all the more.

Carefully he pried apart the history of Anakin, nearly dropping his caf when she insisted that Anakin _had no_ father, that she simply couldn't explain it. He studied her and rationalized: as a slave she must have been knocked unconscious, and how would she then know? Perhaps there were too many to be sure which was the father…

One thing was certain, she was not a liar. From his own experience and preternatural manipulative abilities, he knew that. Shmi Skywalker was unpretentious and straightforward, and she could gain nothing from him by spinning such an outlandish tale. She believed what she told him, and so he did not press her. Perhaps the twin suns of Tatooine had baked such lunacy into her.

Instead, he paid the bill and walked her back to her modest apartment, still not sure why he did so.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He had been working at the Sith language for decades now, using his connections to the underworlds of countless planets to collect priceless Sith artifacts and mementos. He prided himself that he could decipher most words and phrases, but no matter how hard he searched his growing records, he could find no record of a child born without a father. Even to his self-trained eye, Anakin burned bright with the power of the Force.

He had put the boy under Jag's and his own personal tutelage, and Anakin's skills in racing had increased exponentially. Shmi was not thrilled when he raced competitively (he could tell by the pinching at the corners of her mouth), but there was little she could do in the face of the boy's enthusiasm and her employer's tacit approval. And Anakin, for reasons Palpatine could not comprehend, seemed to live to please him.

It seemed to go beyond just the matter of his freedom.

Strangely, he found himself enjoying the attention and hero worship. The more he spent time with Anakin, the more he grew entranced by the natural power emanating from the boy. Anakin was exceptional and intelligent, even if he whined more than was strictly necessary. All whimpering aside, he saw himself in Anakin; perhaps Anakin felt the same way.

He returned to his notes and pondered anew the prophecy of the being known as the Sith'ari, the legend of Darth Bane. As per his dealings with an occasional Jedi and the other Senators, the Jedi Order appeared unusually apprehensive of late. His own 'sight' was bringing him incomprehensible sensations of disaster, of chaos.

Palpatine sometimes thought of Hego Damask and wondered if the Muun might be able to help him clear matters up, but his nightmares remained stunningly tangible. Too many nights he woke up screaming, drenched in sweat, the visions stark and raw, and so he avoided Damask Holdings and chose to conduct his financial business with other candidates.

He had a bad feeling about Hego Damask. He would simply have to find another way.

One late evening, he pushed back from his console, cursing the last known Sith Lord colorfully in Naboo, when he spotted Shmi's slender figure dusting along the back of his office. How long had she been there, and why had his senses not told him?

"Shmi," he said, stunned, not even realizing that he had finally called her by her given name. "What are you doing here?"

She looked up, just as startled by his informal address. "Senator, I apologize. I'm always here this late."

He looked at the chronometer. So he was usually gone by now… The buzzing headache between his eyes blossomed.

She glanced at him curiously. "What has your attention so completely tonight, Senator?"

"Forecasts," he said bluntly, because he couldn't think of anything else to say, and it was true in a manner of speaking.

"The future is a hard thing to read," she said, nodding, wise, reaching for a priceless Gran drum on his shelf.

"Sometimes," he grunted, tensing and then relaxing as she handled it expertly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You should know how to read and write," he told her one midday, freshly returned from a harrowing round of meetings and bargains with a brutish band of Inner Rim Senators. The whole infernal galaxy seemed to center around trade and its accompanying pains, and the pocketbooks of greedy beings… So be it.

He had been watching her tidy his bookshelves, watched as her calloused hands traced longingly over the titles. Gibberish to her, but he could appreciate the longing in her eyes, the bright desire to know more. He felt the same about… everything.

He wondered if her academic curiosity burned as bright as his. He asked her if she had ever tried to learn.

She blushed and pulled her hands away from the books. "I tried a program Anakin brought home last month. I couldn't really… understand it."

"Programming is for droids," he scoffed. "I will teach you."

Force! What had prompted that?! He had better things to do with his time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He found himself wanting to teach her everything, and he tried. Reading, writing, politics, culture, etiquette. She pushed back quietly but firmly at him at times when he pushed her too hard, but strangely the violent urges in his chest did not surge up when she did.

He wondered at that and had to admit a tiny shred of uncertainty. When people criticized him, he _always_ wanted to hurt them, to get back, to make them miserable. Not her. She was real. She didn't laugh at his ungainly limp, didn't want promises from him, didn't expect him to make her life easier. Didn't expect him to conform to her ideas.

Consequently, he didn't want to… hurt her. He wanted to help her. So he doubled his efforts to appease her and simultaneously push her harder. She laughed, incredulous, the first time he brought her flowers and then sat her down for a lecture on the critical weaknesses of the Republic.

One late night, after months of teaching, when he had refused to let her return home until she had mastered all verb tenses in writing, when she was exasperated and teasing him relentlessly, he reached with a low huff to take her hand and bring it back to the flimsi.

Something like electricity sparked in the space between their hands, and he jerked back. She did the same.

They stared at each other with wide eyes. Then he practically shoved her from his office.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Jag could hardly believe it, but he recognized the look in his friend's eye whenever his new secretary wandered into his field of vision. A look he had never seen in Palpatine's eyes before. He saw the way the Senator tried to make her job easier in a hundred small ways, how he fretted when she seemed displeased, how he appeared strangely listless and crestfallen until she walked back in.

Sheev Palpatine was falling for Shmi Skywalker, and he didn't even know it.

The Weequay wanted to laugh so hard, even knowing that Palpatine's dignity would be affronted. And so the minute Shmi left the office to confirm an appointment with Thesme's senator, he did, guffawing loudly enough that Palpatine leveled a sharp stare at him.

Jag wiped tears of mirth from his hard cheeks. "You've got it bad," he told the human.

Palpatine scowled, confused.

Jag tried to compose his features into something approaching seriousness and stroked at his chin horns, much longer than they used to be. "You two would be perfect together."

Palpatine's reply came automatically. "There is no 'us two'."

"Sure," Jag shrugged. "And Weequays don't grow horns either. But oddly enough, I've got a bunch on my face, and you have a woman to woo."

The Naboo's watery blue eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "I don't…"

Jag stood and moved toward the door. "You'll figure it out." He moved faster at the snarled growl behind him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The courting was awkward, he thought. Shmi had never been courted before, and he, well, he had never courted with any serious intentions before. He courted for votes, seduced for passing pleasure, broke hearts with little compunction. And now he found himself fussing over whether the restaurant was good enough for her, if the opera seats were too far away, if she would like the gifts he brought her. On and on.

It was ridiculous. It was ridiculous how when she laughed, something warm and alien coiled in his chest. Not entirely unpleasant, though.

His advisor, Sim Aloo, picked up almost instantly on the furtive couple's knowing glances. The thin Coruscant native confronted him immediately about it.

"She's a slave woman, Senator!"

"Was," he snapped waspishly. "She _was_ a slave, almost a year ago. She's my secretary now."

Aloo stared at him. "Is that really any better? In the eyes of the Senate, you know it won't matter. They'll expect you to make a better –"

Palpatine sat bolt upright and stared at the other man, daring him to finish his sentence.

Aloo was not one to be intimidated, which was why he remained one of Palpatine's closest confidants. "They'll expect you to make a better choice. A wiser choice," the adviser finished quietly.

He scowled. "They should know by now, I defy the expectations of others."

Aloo shrugged. "It will potentially harm your bid for Supreme Chancellor soon. They will drag this through fifteen layers of dirt."

Palpatine stood from his desk and paced around the small, windowless room. He wheeled to look at Aloo, jaw set and eyes sparking. "Which is why we're going to figure out a way around it. I don't care how. Intimidate them, threaten them, whatever it takes."

"We?" Aloo protested, but Palpatine was no longer listening to him.

Aloo sighed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They sat together on the balcony of her apartment, their hands loosely entwined. Inside, they could hear Anakin tidying up the remnants of dinner with the help of his newly golden C-3PO unit. The sound of the dishes clattering was strangely soothing.

Shmi leaned up against him and studied his slender hand. "We can't keep it a secret much longer, Sheev. We shouldn't. He deserves to know the truth."

"How do you know if he will accept it?" Palpatine grunted back. "I'm ten years older than you."

"Ten years is not long," she chuckled. "And 37 is more than old enough to make my own choices about who I want to love." Behind them, Anakin's dishwashing grew quieter. The sounds of the city surrounded them.

 _Love._ The idea was foreign to him, made him uncomfortable and tense. Even now he could not say what he felt for her in return… Gratitude that she pulled him from his darkest thoughts? Admiration for her sterling firmness and strength? Desire for her approval? So many things…

Did he…? Could he even…

It didn't make any political sense to do this, to sit here with her and enjoy the warmth of her body against his, the gentle happiness radiating from her in the Force she could not actively touch. Aloo had been right; she was a slave.

And now so much more to him.

She did not deserve him, his cold rage, his endless calculations and plotting, his inability to love her selflessly as she evidently loved him.

He pulled his hand from hers and stood, walking to the railing and staring stonily out over the slip streams of traffic blanketing Coruscant's night sky.

"What's wrong, Sheev?" she asked, standing and joining him, threading her arm around his waist. It still made him jump, that someone would touch him like this without an ulterior motive. It still made him question his sanity, when his given name on her lips failed to raise his ire.

He turned toward her and tilted her head up curiously. "Why?" he demanded softly.

She held his gaze fearlessly. "Does that matter?"

To him, it did. He did not understand… this, and that made him incredibly nervous.

She leaned up and kissed his cheek gently. "Silly man."

"Yippee!"

They both jumped, rotating to see Anakin framed in the balcony's door, his fist pumped up in a universal sign of victory. Palpatine felt his face flame red as Shmi sputtered helplessly, and then Anakin was gone, the young boy tearing through the house and calling for C-3PO.

Shmi shook silently against him until he realized she was laughing and pulled her back. Her eyes gleamed with mirth. "I guess that answers our question of if he approves."

He found little humorous in the situation, but he liked watching her like this. She chuckled and wiped a few tears from her eyes, then sobered as she noticed his quiet mien.

He pulled her close, suddenly unsure. "I'm not a good man, Shmi," he said into her hair.

She stepped back and looked at him closely. "You could be," was all she said before pulling his head down for a lingering kiss.

For a moment, he almost believed her.

And in that moment, he lost what was left of his heart. Stolen by a plain, unpretentious… perfect woman.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"The ceremony was lovely, wasn't it?" Shmi asked him softly, brushing a gray-streaked strand of hair behind her ear. "Naboo really knows how to put on a display."

"I don't actually recall much," he admitted. The whole day was a blur, the Naboo Embassy done up in streamers of beautiful silks and eternal flames, Anakin dressed in the finest coattails and looking so starched that Palpatine had wanted to laugh if he himself had not been more finely decorated yet… the King calling to offer his formal congratulations…

And Shmi… she was the reason he remembered so little else, because he would never forget the sight of her waiting for him at the front of the room, the Naboo holy man beaming down benevolently. He could recall with startling clarity how her white gown's train had pooled around her feet, how her brown eyes gleamed with joy and gentle acceptance when he fumbled for her hand, clumsy as he had hardly ever been in his life.

He remembered perfectly the shiver in her hand when he slid the ring on… when they exchanged the traditional vows of Naboo before all the gods, vows that meant she was his… and he was hers. He really did not have much use for ceremony or inane moon goddesses, but what had happened then… well. He could endure that.

She prodded his shoulder gently when they reached the door of their suite. "We'll be the talk of the Holonet for what, two nights?"

He smirked, shaking loose of his memories. "The media attention is just starting, Shmi."

She smiled at him. "And where will your attention be?"

"Of course, I will have to check on my favorable ratings," he said, face straight, more to watch her thick eyebrows rise in disbelief than anything else.

"I hope you will check your wife's first," she finally said.

"I suppose I can manage that…" He leaned in close and kissed her, marveling at how different it was when he didn't truly want anything. When he was… content? Yes, that's what this was. Shmi melted under his gentle approach, her arms going over his shoulders, leaning against the door frame, then she stopped and put a hand over his mouth. "Are you sure Anakin will be all right?" she whispered.

He chuckled, pulling her hand down. "Jag is exceptionally good with children. I don't know where he got it."

She glared gently at him. "He's probably got him swoop racing on the underlevels."

"Anakin will be fine. Worry about yourself," he whispered and kissed her again and felt a spark of some completely indefinable emotion alight in his chest.

She must have felt it too, because she was pulling him forward into the room and looking at him like… that.

"I love you," she said, and he almost said it back to her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Heh. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then…" An extremely rare experience for me, attempting to write a romance. I think this may actually be the first time I've attempted such a radical thing, but I was shooting for a little bit of happiness in his life. Of course, the nice moments can't last forever, and the next chapter is going to be a little rougher for our unlikely family.**

 **I have a confession…in the tiny part of my brain that might admit to liking fluff, I think Shmipatine is great… I have no clue how the pairing terminology works though.**

 **Right now I'm running for my life due to one very angry Sheev Palpatine behind me, so leave a review after the chapter and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. :D**


	7. Defying Expectations Part 5

**.**

 **Infinite Possibilities**

 **Chapter 7: Defying Expectations Part V**

"Dad!" Anakin leapt off the unsteady swoop bike and raced to the two finely dressed if a bit dusty individuals at the edge of the track. "I pushed it to a new record today!"

"Good, Anakin," Palpatine shared a rare, faint smile with his adopted son. "Very good. I noticed your controlled drift on the far turn. Well done."

Anakin beamed and circled his parents. "Can I always be a racer? Can't I just skip the other stuff?"

Shmi laughed. "Anakin, you know you're going to be attending school in less than a year. A real school." Anakin whined a bit, but she was proud of him, proud of the way Sheev was making such strong efforts to be involved in the life of his new son. They had both agreed that Anakin needed more than professional racing could offer.

Secretly, Shmi was very glad. She worried constantly when Anakin was out on the track. Sheev didn't seem concerned at all, but then hardly anything ever outwardly worried her husband. He seemed to possess a sixth sense of sorts, something that allowed him to remain in control of every situation.

Except her and Anakin. She hid a smile as she watched the two males of her life converse animatedly about the track.

Sheev had no idea what to think of her. He called her a mystery, treated her like breakable glass, like she was a wisp of a dream that would disappear if he let go, no matter how often she assured him that would never happen. She had seen him rip his opponents into shreds on and off the Senate floor, bargain a fellow businessman into tears, threaten the livelihood of a nemesis without blinking an eye, coldness radiating from his being.

But he never lifted so much as his voice to her or Anakin in genuine anger. She marveled at the power she seemingly held over this gentled krayt dragon, this man who pulled her from slavery without a second glance and who she loved intensely, this man who wanted to rule.

Anakin grinned and hugged his father before bounding back out toward the track and Jag, who waved to her with a wide smile. A disgruntled Sheev returned to her side, sliding his arms around her and ignoring the stares of his staff from a safe distance. Shmi could almost sense their disdain for these dusty tracks, that their primary candidate for Supreme Chancellor next year still dallied with his racing enterprise from time to time.

She knew some of them despised her too, a former slave. And she knew he did not care about their opinions. That realization allowed her to bear the scorn.

"I don't like him going up against the Hutts," Shmi said softly against his shoulder. "No one is as cruel or vengeful as Jabba is."

Sheev pulled her gently around until she stood in front of him, her back to him, and looped his arms around her shoulders in a comfortable embrace. She thrilled to think that he could now reach out to her on his own, so casually, so trusting, but she didn't ever point it out to him.

Finally he spoke. "Jabba may be just that, but he's also intelligent, Shmi. He knows I'd ruin his setup here on Malastare in less time than it took him to give the order." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice contained a hard edge. "I would destroy him utterly…"

He became so confident about such things, as though he could see the events happening before his pale blue eyes. Shmi took a deep breath as she looked out over the track. Tentative. Slow. "You feel things too… Just like him."

Sheev shook his head and chuckled. Shmi tilted her head back and directed a gentle glare at him, alarmed that he would so blatantly deny it to her. She twisted in his hold to fully face him and draped her arms around his neck. "Don't lie to me, husband. I've seen you reading those old tomes at night. I've seen you doing… those things."

Palpatine's mood shifted from a clear day to a muddy pool. His eyes pierced her where she stood, as though he were dissecting her out to the other side. He made a dull, soft sound. "You see too much, Shmi. You always have."

Shmi shivered. She loved him more than life itself, but there was still a darkness in him. Perhaps it would never entirely disappear.

Palpatine pulled her against his chest. She heard him mutter into the wayward strands, "We'll have to be more careful, that's all."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The year of his campaign to become Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic was hectic, to say the least. Shmi saw less of him than ever before as he traveled constantly from planet to planet. Even when she accompanied him on the campaign trail, a common occurrence, he was continuously whisked away from her by endless streams of agents, advisers, and adoring crowds.

Lonely, she began to think that she was not becoming any younger, her motherly instincts rising in her. She had no choice when Anakin arrived, the precious gift from the Force that he was, but now… Sheev instantly rejected the idea one night as they reclined together on the couch of their Corellian hotel and watched the pundits weigh in on his latest stirring speech.

"Why not?" Shmi asked softly, tracing his fingers with her own. "I am young enough to safely carry a child."

Sheev's eyes flashed away from her, his hand clenching into a loose fist. "I am not father material, Shmi. I've told you enough about my own father, haven't I?"

Shmi bit her lip. Well, not really, but enough hints and bits and pieces that broke her heart each time she remembered them. "You are not Cosinga Palpatine, Sheev," she whispered.

"I am his son," he said bitterly. "I share things with him, Shmi, things I cannot tell you." He caught her questioning eye. "I won't."

She stroked his arm, feeling the tenseness in the hard muscles. "I'm not asking you to, Sheev."

Shmi was disappointed, for she had hoped for a child of his. Yet she felt his pain, his guilt, his anger, and she wanted to cry for him, but she knew he would not appreciate it, so she patted his fisted hand and whispered, "In your own time..." Knowing full well it might be never. Accepting it. Accepting him.

His eyes softened, and finally he met her gaze. Perhaps she only imagined the gratitude in their blue depths.

"I love you," she said, and he dared a faint smile.

Three months before his inauguration as Supreme Chancellor, he admitted that it might be time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Once Palpatine became Chancellor at the relatively young age of fifty, he knew that his adopted ten-year-old son couldn't be seen gallivanting around the galaxy racing and goofing his way through life. He also didn't particularly like the dangers such a life presented for Anakin. Any number of gangs and criminals would like to get their hands on the Chancellor's son. A racing career was all well and good for an escaped noble scraping out a life on the bottom of Coruscant, but Anakin deserved more than that.

He at least deserved an informed choice.

Palpatine determined that Anakin should receive the finest education the galaxy had to offer, so despite the boy's half-hearted protests, he enrolled him in the best schools money could buy. Shmi sent him care packages constantly, insisting that Palpatine join her in writing the notes to their son. He chimed in occasionally with a word of warning about this, a recommendation for that, an awkward line or two about life in the Senate. Anakin was never particularly interested in politics, but Palpatine shrugged it aside, choosing to ignore the dull gleam of boredom in those normally bright blue eyes when they spoke of such things.

At the same, he watched Shmi closely, never sure if his advice was wanted or appropriate for a father to provide. He certainly didn't have a role model to look back on and remember fondly (the memories still clenched his fingers and raised the dark beast in his chest). But he wanted… well, to be involved somehow. A stupid bit of sentiment, but there it was.

Shmi sensed his need and guided him without ever having to ask. She nodded with approval when he congratulated Anakin on winning the local martial arts competition at his university. She reworded his harsh reprimand when Anakin failed to meet the deadline for an important scholarship. She kicked his shin when they spoke over hologram and he ever went too far in lecturing the boy.

He didn't know what to think, except each time he found himself falling harder for her no-nonsense, stubborn-headed ways. Feminine wiles, he mused from time to time, were unknowable to even the greatest minds.

Whenever he dared to complain to her about it, she only laughed and told him he loved the mystery of it.

Chaos take it all, he did. Was this supposed to be what a family was like?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He had a new problem before very long, one that he had no idea how to handle.

Palpatine couldn't help noticing how Shmi's belly swelled a little more with each passing month. It terrified him to be honest, which of course he wasn't.

He studied his Sith resources more closely, seeking to catch a glimpse of the future of this child, but the path remained dark and mysterious. He attempted to distract himself in his endless piles of datapads and Senate proceedings. "The galaxy needs me" was fast becoming his mumbled escape tagline when the situation became overwhelming at home.

Of course, his work in the Senate only seemed to triple at the same time. Multiple planets were raising complaints about the treatment of their trade routes and taxation. Between roping them back into line and fending off nosy reporters who wanted to know the gender of his unborn child, Palpatine found himself adoring the occasional moments of solitude in his office. Shmi wondered why he worked so late some days…

And why couldn't reporters notice the lowering crime rate on Coruscant, thanks to his brutally efficient streamlining of the security forces? Why couldn't they ask about his new plans to overhaul the trade summit on Eriadu next year? Why did they want him to describe a baby's room, of all things? Irrelevant. A Chancellor had bigger issues to tend.

As the time of delivery drew near, Shmi did not hesitate to let him know what she wanted. He was quickly discovering a pregnant woman needed no bounds for propriety, and that it was, in fact, wiser to get her whatever she wanted, as quickly as she wanted it.

Muttering about the irrationality of sweet Shuura sauce drizzled over pickled fleek eel, he narrowly avoided a large pillow projectile as he made his way out to the kitchen of his 500 Republica apartment. By the time he returned with the custom dish, holding his breath to avoid the noxious smell, Shmi had squirmed into a sitting position at the head of the bed.

For a moment, she reminded him of a shaak he had once seen fallen on its side near Convergence. Smothering a smirk and the impolitic thought, he approached with caution.

When he brought it to her side, her scowl transformed into a beatific smile, and he felt like someone had kicked him in the gut, and his own resentment at fetching the dish slid helplessly away.

He moved to return to his side of the bed, but she pulled him down to sit next to her, taking his hand and laying it against her swollen midsection over the thin nightgown. Palpatine looked up, confused and seeking her eyes, then he felt it, a sharp push, a fist? A foot? Brows furrowing, he shot a look at Shmi. It had to hurt, so why was she smiling?

"I love you," she said, and he looked away.

She was not smiling when she eventually delivered a healthy baby girl in the Senate hospital wing. He fled the room in a hail of colorful Hutt curses, surprised that his gentle wife even knew such words. The doctors assured him such epitaphs were well within the normal range. Senators and acquaintances stood around him, slapping his back genially and pronouncing good fortune upon him and his family, so different from when they scorned his choice of a slave woman…

One co-senator from Thesme joked how the Republic needed good virile leadership in these difficult times, how blessed they were to have it, and Palpatine made a mental note to have the man's career ruined.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

If anyone could be completely intimidating, Jedi Grandmaster Yoda fit the description despite his diminutive size.

If anyone could not be intimidated, Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine strove to meet such qualifications.

The two sat in his office, staring hard at each other over his wide desk, each willing the other to break and give in. Shmi Skywalker Palpatine sat in a chair to one side, the new and pink Bremé cradled lovingly against her shoulder, Anakin standing at her side and glaring at the Jedi masters standing behind Yoda's chair.

"This situation, your stubbornness does not help," Yoda shook his wizened head at last.

Palpatine showed the edges of his teeth in a grim smile. "I see no situation warranting the intervention of the Jedi Order. I see only a family attempting to thrive without outside interference. And the proper way to address me is 'Your Excellency.' I'll settle for 'Excellency.'"

Yoda's ears flicked back, inscrutable. "Thrive, she will not, in a family such as yours, _Chancellor_. Too old to begin the training, Anakin was, but blind to the Force you and the mother are. Would you ask her to live half a life?"

Palpatine almost laughed in the green Jedi's face. He still wasn't sure how he felt about a daughter of his own; it frightened him to dwell on it long, but he would be cursed to Chaos before he gave away Shmi's pride and joy to the Jedi. "Or go give her life in service to an Order that doesn't even allow family to exist? No, Master Jedi, unless your Order stoops to kidnapping my daughter, she will never be twisted by your emotionless pity."

Behind Yoda, Mace Windu frowned. "The Jedi Order does not kidnap younglings. Most parents are reasonable enough to see that the child will suffer without the guidance of the Order. Force sensitives see things… differently. They have needs that you will not be able to meet."

Shmi scowled at him, and Palpatine shot her a warning look. Then he turned it up in intensity and shifted it to Windu. "Master Jedi, I'll assume you did not mean that as an insult to me and my wife, or our abilities to provide for our offspring."

Windu's face reminded him of a stone, immovable and hard. Finally, the Jedi shook his head. "No, Excellency. I did not."

"Good," Palpatine purred silkily, glancing around the room before landing with satisfaction on his small family. "Then everything appears to be settled here."

He knew without looking again that they disagreed.

Too bad.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Isn't she cute, Dad?" Anakin grinned, tracing a finger down the tiny yet long nose and smiling as Bremé cooed up.

Palpatine glanced up from his Senate report, taking in his young son and infant daughter. "Cute?"

"Yeah. Adorable," Anakin shrugged.

Palpatine tilted his head. "You are not… jealous of her?"

Anakin's face scrunched up in confusion. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous of her? You're so weird, Dad."

He blinked but took it without comment. He had learned years ago that Anakin said such things and meant no insult. It was odd, this friendly bantering that his son enjoyed so much. Jag liked it too, and he thought of his old friend's visit yesterday. Since running for Chancellor, Palpatine had set aside his work in the racing field and turned executive control over to the Weequay, who was doing an excellent job of maintaining the growth of Palpatine, Inc.

Jag's visits were always appreciated, though he grumbled under his breath each time. That reminded him… "How is your assignment coming along?"

Anakin froze in place and looked at the floor. "It'll be ready by the time I go back to school."

He lifted one eyebrow. "Jag had a different opinion when he spoke with you yesterday."

"I'll, uh… get back to you on that!" Anakin saluted and dashed from the apartment study.

Palpatine watched him go with a sigh of fond irritation, then set aside the datapad, rose, and wandered over to the bassinet containing his daughter. He stared down into the soft round face, which stared back with bright blue eyes. The doctors told him she was unnaturally intelligent, that her eyes focused faster than most children's. This was his flesh and blood, almost impossible to imagine, and yet here she was.

"Cute?" He asked her doubtfully. Why had his nose found its way onto her face…? Why not Shmi's?

"Gahhh…" she replied firmly.

He wanted Shmi to come back from her shopping trip.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Shmi was initially concerned by her husband's first reaction to their daughter. She remembered presenting Bremé to him in the hospital wing after all the other dignitaries had been shuffled out. She remembered how he stood stock still, staring down into the little crying red face, and then pivoted on his heel and all but fled the premises. Shmi remembered blinking back frightened tears.

Three nights later, he curled against her in their bed and confessed expressionlessly that he would not be a good father, that this had all been a mistake, that he was sorry for bringing this into her life, and she promptly punched him in the shoulder hard enough to wring out a soft grunt. Under no circumstances, she told him, was he ever to speak of himself or their daughter in that way again.

He had nodded and gone silent for the rest of the night. The following morning, he acted as though nothing was amiss, but he made no effort to immediately bond with his daughter, as though he were afraid of doing so. It went on for weeks.

She worried and fretted and even went to Jag, who jiggled Bremé cheerfully in his arms and told her to give it time, that Sheev Palpatine struggled with positive change. So she did, and eventually Sheev began to warm to their daughter. He was never indulgent, but he protected them both when the Jedi came, even more opposed to the idea than Shmi was.

Shmi now smiled to think of it. He never spoke to Bremé with anything more than a cultured disinterest, but she could sense the tide had turned; he loved her. And despite his refusal to use the baby talk Anakin tried to teach him, Bremé clearly loved him back. When her father entered the room, no one else mattered.

Shmi sipped her tea and looked at them both: Bremé carefully arranged on her father's robed chest, both sound asleep on the long, low couch. She glanced at the chronometer; Sheev had a presentation before the Senate in less than an hour. She snuck another glance at them.

A few more minutes would not hurt.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A little over a year into his first term as Chancellor, everything changed like the new nightmares that had been encroaching on his dreams for weeks. Palpatine found himself rudely awakened by a soft chuckle at the end of his bed. Alarmed, he sat up and reached for the snub blaster under the baggy sleeve of his nightclothes. It tore from his hand and landed in the grip of a grinning Muun. A very familiar Muun.

"You've changed greatly since we last met, boy," Hego Damask smiled, looking around the darkened room, its opulence barely visible. "It's a pity your father missed all this."

"I'm no longer a boy, Magister," Palpatine snapped. "And you've no longer the right to call me that."

"Oh, my apologies," Damask purred, though they both knew he meant no such thing. "In Muun years you are still practically a youngling. I forget how fast humans live. And married now. With a child. Congratulations, I've heard she is exceptionally Force-sensitive. I hear you're practically fighting the Jedi Order off with a stick."

Palpatine tensed when the Muun raised his long, spindly hand toward the bassinet in the corner of the bedroom, but Damask laughed. "You needn't fear death from me yet, Chancellor. That would defeat the purpose of working with you. On the contrary, I come with much to offer you."

The Chancellor could feel his daughter's peaceful presence in the Force, glanced at the other side of the bed where Shmi lay quietly, still sleeping, oddly sleeping. Mouth a thin grim line, he reached out and touched her shoulder.

The Muun grinned. "She's sleeping very soundly, both of them, I've made certain of that."

Palpatine felt the familiar, savagely bright flashes of rage batter against his tight shields as he turned back to the intruder. Possessive hate boiled in his chest. "If you've harmed them in any way…"

"Careful, you're not the only one with power in this room," Damask cautioned and let some of his own strength show, and Palpatine withdrew in the face of it. His own natural power was immense, he had always known, but it was untrained. This confirmed everything he had suspected since first meeting the leader of Damask Holdings.

"You are the Sith Lord…"

"A Sith Lord denied his true apprentice, I see that now," Damask nodded, impressed. "I've watched your career with great interest, Palpatine. Allow me to introduce myself properly at last. I am Darth Plagueis."

Darth Plagueis. A name of nightmares. A face to power. Palpatine considered him. "What do you want from me?" he asked bluntly. The time for subtlety was over, the game afoot. No more hiding from his past.

Plagueis smiled. "Your insight serves you well. I want many things, just as I will give you many things, Chancellor. I want your loyalty, I want your obedience. I want you to take my counsel into consideration so that the Order of the Sith may have what it deserves. What I can give you is, of course, the galaxy."

Palpatine scoffed, even as his heart beat faster at the thought. Such power… But the visions, the nightmares… "And if I deny you, you'll what, kill me?"

Plagueis shook his elongated head, almost mournful. "No… not you. You are a precious resource, and a fountain of power that I intend to utilize to devastating effect on this crippled government. I always get what I want, Palpatine, but if you are thinking of being foolhardy, you will not be the one to pay the price." His yellowing gaze flicked to Shmi's sleeping form, then to the sleeping babe.

Palpatine felt his heart stop in his chest. He didn't have time to think what that meant, to think that he couldn't breathe at the thought. He clenched his teeth, his voice coming out more as a growl. "You would be making a grave mistake."

"As would you, turning my offer away," Plagueis shrugged his loose shoulders. "Think of it this way, my young human friend. If you choose to reject me, I know about Anakin."

Palpatine's heart stuttered into frantic life against his ribcage. "Anakin?" He said, blank and confused, but Plagueis laughed. The sound reverberated around the quiet room.

"Your shields are most impressive, your acting skills superb, but I know you are aware of his power. And my connections have kept me informed of your ventures into the black markets. Your collection of Sith artifacts and knowledge is growing immense, Palpatine. Many true Sith did not possess the knowledge of our Order as you have gathered. I know this because I have allowed you to come into possession of these objects."

Palpatine stared at him, inwardly aghast. Could it be possible…? All this time?

Plagueis paused, as though choosing his next words with relish. "I know what you truly want. And I can give it to you, but the choice will be yours. And in the end, I will have either you or Anakin."

Palpatine aligned his features into a stony mask. For all he knew of the Sith and the Rule of Two, the endless ambition in his own chest told him that Plagueis would not be satisfied with one or the other, not forever. He needed time, he needed…

Plagueis swept to his feet with a soft sigh, as though disappointed by his hesitance. "I will give you time to think it over, Chancellor. I respect you greatly, but have your decision ready the next we meet, please. I am a busy Muun. And do not think to turn to the Jedi, or your knowledge of the Sith will only work against you, and I will slaughter all you hold dear while you are mired down in desperate explanation."

And just like that, he was gone, melted into the shadows at the end of the room, the vaunted security none the wiser to his brief presence. Palpatine sank forward and buried his face in his hands.

He needed time, and there simply was none.

The next occasion they met, three days later in an abandoned warehouse deep in the Works, Palpatine lowered his head in the direction of the older Muun and nodded.

Plagueis smiled.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **In the EU, Sith made no distinctions of age in the apprentices they took, or in the beginning of training in the Dark Side (like Bane), only in power. So Plagueis is finally making his move and hoping to capitalize on Palpatine's Force talents and political authority.**

 **On his daughter, given his own less than healthy background with parental figures, I felt it would be highly unrealistic if he and Bremé** **instantly bonded. He would be fighting a lot of self-doubt and ingrained values that Cosinga had drilled into him. Let's face it, Palpatine would not be armed with the best practices for child-rearing. Let's be glad Shmi is there to help him out.**

 **Things have taken a dark turn. Hopefully our intrepid family can find a way out of the darkness. I always enjoy hearing what you folks think of it all. Thank you for reading.**


	8. Defying Expectations Part 6

**.**

 **Infinite Possibilities**

 **Chapter 8: Defying Expectations Part VI**

His life grew incredibly complicated. His natural shielding, which had protected him from Darth Plagueis in his youth and now the Jedi as he sat and worked side by side with them, had grown stronger as a result of his training, but it widened the gulf between him and others.

He could look at a group of individuals and see only the wisps of their souls in the Force, dark and light and mingled together. He could see the galaxy spinning and wheeling, his power growing with each passing month of secretive, bone-breaking training and furtive studies (thank the Force for his access to state-of-the-art medical assistance). Plagueis appeared to be greatly pleased with his progress.

It was all too easy to project the desire to share in his master's power, because the desire was real. He enjoyed being able to look at individuals and dissect their worth in the Force, to form the future to fit his vision of what should be. To take control of this whimpering galaxy and put it back into line.

It was all too easy to project the loyalty his master demanded, because in a strange way, he was grateful. Grateful and terrified of what Plagueis might do to his family.

And there was the crux of the matter.

The hard part was Shmi. And Anakin. And the little girl. His little girl. _Use her name._ Bremé.

The more he withdrew, the harder Shmi pursued him. She did not expect him to be good, but she was good to him. Occasionally he returned to find tears in the corners of her eyes, and she busied herself with Bremé whenever the tension in their home became too great. At night, she pulled him close and asked for no explanation.

And because of that, he found himself determined to make things right for her. He spoke to his master often of clouding the minds of the Jedi, inuring them to the approach of the Grand Plan's completion, and Plagueis agreed that such an insidious project would be an excellent test for his apprentice. However, Darth Sidious worked on a separate challenge in secret at the same time, one that he tucked deep behind the tightest shielding in his mind, one that his master could never be allowed to discover. It took every trick in his book to keep it hidden.

He would ensure that the Dark Side clouded _everything_. Nothing left to chance; that was not in his nature.

His nature was to plot, and plot he did, meticulously sowing the seeds of destruction.

Only time would tell whose.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He was not careful enough.

When Shmi found out two years after he became the apprentice of Darth Plagueis, she broke down in tears, and Palpatine found himself attempting to comfort his wife with no way of knowing how. He hated the helplessness that took him whenever he could not quickly master a skill. Fifty-three years of living and he had no clue how to handle this.

She discovered it through a fresh, long scar on his back, deep enough to feel in the darkness he always called for now. They loved each other only in shadows anymore; she had missed seeing his face, his thoughtful blue eyes and the confident smirk on his thin lips. And then she felt the scar and froze in bewildered horror, calling for the lights.

For nearly a year now, he knew she had suspected him of an affair (and somehow that idea hurt very deeply). Half the galaxy suspected, but what was true was so much worse. Always a reclusive individual, he disappeared completely at times. His office covered for him well with pre-recorded holograms and careful splicing of the records, and his popularity only continued to grow in the polls because his leadership was efficient and progressive even as the galaxy struggled through division and strife. Every politician had at least some scandal ongoing, the galaxy shrugged.

However, Shmi knew something had changed. She worried for the whole of two years as her husband grew leaner and darker, shadowed and distracted. Harder. Colder.

Now she looked at him, head in his hands again on the edge of the bed, with hard eyes and demanded, "The truth, Sheev. I want the truth from you. No more lies."

And so he told her – almost – everything. How Plagueis knew he had the Force, how the Muun had approached him with an offer he couldn't refuse. He left out the part of Shmi's life in the balance, because even now he didn't dare face that reality, that someone could hold him in such sway. He left out that his heart threatened to tear itself from his chest at the thought of losing her. So he told her a delicate weave of most-truths instead, how he had formed shady deals and made questionable decisions in the past, how Plagueis was now holding it over him.

Shmi looked both hurt and angry, but that was better than dead, and she didn't really understand what it meant to be a Sith, so he held his sharp tongue when she told him she needed time to think and turned away from him on the bed. When she shoved his tentative hand coldly away. When she trembled in fear because of him.

The leftover bit of his blackened heart cracked.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"How does he keep you in line, Sheev?" she asked one late evening as they sat in uncomfortable silence at the dinner table, poking at the cooling shaak steaks on their plates. Neither was hungry. Bremé was already sound asleep in her room. Anakin was on Chandrila under strict surveillance.

"What do you mean?"

Her large brown eyes narrowed, but her voice stayed soft. "Don't evade me. Sheev Palpatine doesn't let others tell him what to do, and yet you obey your Master like a slave."

He flinched and shoved the hot rage down, the plate away from him. "Slave?" His shields rammed up, his face wiped blank. Who was she to talk, even as a former slave? She did not know this situation, the depths of Plagueis's shadow. The Hutts were like harmless tookas compared to the Muun Sith Lord.

Finally, he caught a hint of regret in her as she reached out and touched his hand. "I went too far, Sheev. But you know what I meant. This isn't you."

But what if it was? He had the feeling it was. Palpatine took a deep breath and consoled himself with the fact that she was at least talking to him again. He had missed her even-handed commentary, her gentle barbed humor, her companionship. He forced his hand to remain on the table under hers.

"Anakin…" he sighed.

Shmi's eyes shot open. "He knows?! About Anakin?"

Palpatine sucked in a deep breath and nodded. In for a credit, in for the whole bank. "It's worse than that, Shmi. You know – you know I've studied the Sith long before Plagueis sought me out. I fear he is somehow connected to Anakin's unusual birth. He knows too much. He sees almost everything. And he has an unnatural fixation on him."

She clapped a hand over her mouth and sat in stunned silence for a long moment. Dropping it at last, her faint Force presence buzzed with fear. "He is responsible for Anakin's birth? You're telling me he created him?"

"No," Palpatine shook his head sharply. "No, but I believe Anakin may be a result of his experiments in the Force. A response from the Force."

"What does he want with Anakin?"

He studied her hard eyes, the eyes of a mother whose child was in mortal danger. Cold eyes. Something he never expected, never wished, to see from Shmi. "He wanted an apprentice, someone strong in the Force and able to assist him in bringing down the Republic." He looked at her, willing her to understand what he was saying.

Shmi's eyes filled with tears as comprehension dawned. "You offered yourself in place of him. To keep Anakin from him."

Palpatine could only look down at his plate then.

"Oh, Sheev…."

The silence between them grew once more along with the deep ache of loneliness in his chest.

Shmi set her jaw. "We could go to the Jedi –"

"No!" he cut her off before she could take the idea any further. "Plagueis has thought of everything. My interest in the Sith Order will only work against me if I go to the Jedi. I would be arrested, perhaps killed. Anakin would be taken from you."

Shmi looked at him in dismay. He refused to even mention that she and Bremé would die at the hand of Plagueis for such a betrayal if his master found them out. And he always found out. It was a thought and a vision that he could not stand – Shmi bleeding and broken, Bremé a battered little bundle of robes – and she did not need the worry.

"If… If I can keep his attention away from Anakin, on me…" he spoke slowly, cautiously. "Long enough to learn from him. I could overthrow him, Shmi. I know I could. I already have a plan in place."

A tear dropped from one soft brown eye. "He'll kill you, Sheev. And even if he didn't, even if you won, he'll still have _killed you._ "

He did not claim to be able to understand her. He did not understand why she was so frightened for him. But he made a silent grim vow: the old Muun would not bring death to his family. Darth Sidious would bring death to Darth Plagueis first.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Plagueis looked down at his kneeling apprentice in satisfaction. "You are truly a serpent among voorpaks, Lord Sidious."

"You honor me, Master," the human replied with a faint smile, perhaps ironic. Plagueis waved him to his feet. Sidious continued to speak as he joined his master at the window overlooking the Works. "It is truly your wise tutelage that has allowed me to ensure such success for our Order."

Plagueis looked at him from the corner of his beady eye. "Yes, you have grown skilled and powerful in these few short years, stronger than I even imagined, initially. But you have much to learn still."

"Of course," Sidious ducked his head deferentially, his hands tucked in his dark robes. His mind remained closed to Plagueis, those magnificent shields more powerful now than ever. But Plagueis knew his apprentice. He knew how Palpatine desired power, how he thirsted for the reins of control.

Sidious was a natural fighter. His youth on the streets of Coruscant gave him a long history in self-defense, and the newly forged lightsaber seemed to fit perfectly in his small, human hands. He had kept himself perfectly fit, even over the years of politicking when others might have gone soft. Even then, he was not yet a match for Jedi Masters. Perhaps another five years. But Plagueis was far more impressed with Sidious's shifting nature, how he could cloud the minds of his enemies almost effortlessly, how he could cajole and convince and control. A master manipulator, a perfect ruler.

As long as Palpatine wanted power, Sidious could be trusted. Plagueis could feel the tangible shifting in the Force, the balance of power beginning to yawn toward the hidden Sith Order. He could already imagine the future, when he and his talented apprentice would discover the last keys to immortality and sustain each other in a thousand years and more of Sith Empire, when Palpatine's children would serve as their arms of Sith justice in the galaxy.

Plagueis was beginning to realize: control Palpatine's children, and he could control Sidious.

Lately, Plagueis's mind had turned toward Anakin. The boy was doing well in his studies and appeared to have adjusted to his new life as Palpatine's adopted son and heir. Potentially more or less powerful than Sheev Palpatine, Plagueis did not know, and he knew caution would be needed in such pursuit. The idea of them both under his power fulfilling his grand design left Plagueis with more than enough ambition. A father and son, serving him in darkness, a partnership like no other to destroy the Republic at last. And then the girl child…

"Change is coming, my friend," he announced into the quiet gloom. Sidious looked at him, unsurprised.

"Of course, Master, soon the Republic will be wiped clean."

"I speak of Anakin."

Palpatine's eyes widened a narrow bit. "My son, Master?"

Plagueis nodded and turned from the window. "I have been thinking a great deal. You are powerful and my right hand. Under you, the Republic will fall. But your training in physical warfare is barely begun. Your true talents lie in subterfuge and deception. If we begin training Anakin, I foresee the three of us becoming unstoppable."

"Three of us…" Sidious repeated dully.

The Sith Master smiled. "I've spoken to you before of abandoning the Rule of Two. That time is nearly over for the Sith Order. We will forge a new time together, Lord Sidious. Soon, Anakin will be one of us."

Sidious nodded.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"We're running out of time."

She had never heard Sheev speak with such despair. He sat on their couch, face buried between his hands, shoulders tense and rigid.

Shmi hurried to his side and sank onto the couch, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Huttspit, he was shaking! With rage or fear, she did not know, but it frightened her. "Sheev," she begged. "Please, what are you saying?"

When he looked at her, she started at the gleam of yellow in his blue eyes. "Plagueis. He wants Anakin now too."

She felt the pit in her stomach deepen. Somehow she had always known this was coming, even as her mouth continued to protest. "But. But he has you already. You offered yourself for him."

"Sith are never satisfied, Shmi. We want more, always more," he said. "Plagueis wants to train Anakin in the arts of war, teach him with a lightsaber."

Shmi understood immediately. "You are to be his eyes and ears, and Anakin his fists and feet. He wants both of you. Sheev, Anakin will be _changed_. His spirit wouldn't survive. He's never been dark."

Unspoken, the words passed between them. _Unlike you._

She heard him draw in a ragged breath. "I know that."

Shmi took a deep breath of her own and straightened on the couch. "We could go to the Jedi." He lifted his head and glared, but she pressed on, determined to finish this time. "I don't believe they will act against you, not if you go of your own free will, not if I go with you."

"Not the Jedi," he said, hopeless and somehow still determined to stop everything from crashing down. "At least not yet... My plan is close to fruition, but I need more time. I will stall the process."

Her heart broke for him, but she remembered all the times he had pushed her when he cared, and Shmi squared her shoulders. "A little more time, Sheev. But you don't have forever. You can't delay him much longer. Eventually he will force your hand."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Do you love me?" she asked softly as she sat behind him on the bed laying a thin bacta patch over his raw right shoulder. Nearly a year had passed since her discovery of his apprenticeship. She was an unwilling accomplice to his subterfuge now, but he had to admit it felt good that someone knew. That someone cared, bothered to dress his wounds and tried to comfort him. He was tired of everything, of being Chancellor and Sith all at once, of running a galaxy that couldn't take care of itself without endless squabbling and really… they just needed someone to take the reins -

He flinched when her fingers tightened at his delay. Turning partly, he stared back at her. "You know I do."

"Tell me," she said, and he sensed great fear in her.

He turned fully and reached for her hands even as his Sith training tried to latch on it, to feed from it and enjoy the pain she was in. He twined his fingers in hers. _No, not her, never her. Others gladly, but not her._ "I love you, Shmi."

She let a tremulous smile drift to her plain face. "You should say it more often, Sheev, it puts a light in your eyes."

He looked away. "It's dangerous, Shmi. You know he wants to purge my weaknesses."

"Am I a weakness?"

He sought her eyes again at her question and found only cool consideration. "Shmi…"

She seemed to sense his inner distress and sighed, patting his hand. "Nevermind. That's not important right now. But I do need to know something, Sheev."

"Anything," he promised, though he knew certain things he would never have the strength to tell her.

She pinned him to the bed with a searching gaze. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," he said, and found himself shivering.

Because he meant it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Jedi High Council found itself in considerable disorder when the popular Supreme Chancellor Palpatine requested an audience, arrived nearly alone in the chambers with only his serene wife at his side, and announced that he was a Sith apprentice. He even produced a phrik alloy and aurodium blood-red lightsaber as proof and tossed it deactivated at the feet of Master Yoda.

One Jedi moved decisively as the others stared in stumped shock. Mace Windu had his blade out and open and moved forward to cut the Chancellor down.

"No!" Shmi cried and lunged forward, throwing herself desperately between her husband and the descending blade. Mace Windu jerked it to a halt at the last minute. Shmi glared up at him, speaking quickly. "He confessed it of his own free will. He would have lost nothing by staying quiet. Your Order might have been wiped out. How can you justify what you are trying to do?"

Windu's jaw worked hard. "He is a Sith."

Her eyes snapped at him. "He told you. He wants to be free. He has a plan to bring down the monster that threatens us all."

Another snake-like Jedi hissed from his tall chair, "Sith desire power above all else. He has the highest office in the land. The Republic is in turmoil."

Palpatine looked at him, eyes distant and cold and suspicious. "I won this office through no manipulation of a Sith, but my own efforts. Plagueis came to me after I was Chancellor. The Republic is in turmoil because of my master, because of Darth Plagueis. He is luring entire star systems away from the Republic because he seeks a war to destroy both the Republic and the Jedi Order. I am your best chance of stopping him from attaining his goal."

Yoda's ears flicked forward. "Helped him in this, you have."

The High Council waited with scowls and furrowed brows. Palpatine glanced at the floor. "Of course, I have. I am – was – his apprentice. I seek to stop him now."

"Why would we ever trust a Sith?" Mace Windu asked, his blade not lowering.

"He has threatened my family," Palpatine said, voice low. "He is obsessed with a desire to attain immortality, and he is determined to destroy the galaxy if he has to, to achieve that goal. I wish to keep the galaxy intact, and I know I can do it."

"So you can rule it instead?" Windu grunted.

Palpatine stared at him for a long moment, allowing his disdain for the Order to shine through his pale eyes. "Once, yes. Yes, I would have wanted that. The galaxy would be better off." It still would.

The entire Jedi Council tensed, some reaching for their lightsabers.

He took a deep breath and looked at Shmi, thought of Anakin and Bremé. "But I have found something else."

It was not entirely a lie.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The plan was going perfectly.

Not often had he been toyed with like a narglatch toys with a newborn jimvu colt. In a way, it stung his pride far worse than it battered his body, although his body was currently beginning to shut down.

Plagueis was understandably enraged when he discovered the monstrous betrayal of his apprentice. Palpatine had nearly bitten through his tongue by the time the Muun finally stopped the torrent of Force Lightning he was pouring into his apprentice. Would he die from this? His heart was beating erratically, frantically, trying to sustain him through the volts tearing through his body. His vision clouded around the edges.

Palpatine watched from the floor, dazed and bleeding, as Plagueis stood over him and spoke quietly. "Fool, how could you have hoped to defy me alone? You have been an apprentice for three years now, and you thought to overthrow me? I've taught you much, and you have grown faster than any other, but not for this."

He caught an almost melancholy drift in his master's droning tones. Plagueis was in danger of regaining his focus, so Palpatine spat blood at his feet and snarled, "You think I was content to remain under your thumb, Lord Plagueis? A fool who couldn't see past his own desperate desire to prolong his life?"

Plagueis kicked him causally in the jaw. He saw stars and gasped for breath, wondered if it were cracked as the Muun kneeled at his side. "You don't know when to quit, do you? If you are hoping for a clean death, you are sadly mistaken. You are incredibly powerful… I imagine experimenting on you will be far better than any other. Perhaps we might even manage to retrain you."

Palpatine shuddered. He knew what that meant. He wondered if he would live long enough to meet Plagueis's expectations.

The Muun sensed his distress and smiled, curving a hand down to his jaw and squeezing. Palpatine hissed in agony, letting it wash over them both. "But before I do, I have something to take care of. Someone to take care of, Lord Sidious. I owe something to your ungainly wife. After all, I sense that if not for her, your betrayal would not have happened. At least not so soon. And I would like you to be a witness to my revenge. Maybe the children too. Anakin will make an excellent apprentice now, and the girl… Such potential."

Palpatine felt the bright sparks of rage seize him with animal passion. He raised a hand, Force Lightning gathering at his fingertips, and Plagueis slapped him down with the Force and drove his knee into his wrist, shattering it.

Palpatine gritted his teeth, blinking back the spring of hot tears, and focused on the Muun. "I told you that would be a grave mistake, Master."

Plagueis chuckled. "I don't see how you are in any position to do anything about it."

"I'm not."

He smiled as the Muun tilted his head, perplexed, and then dove for cover when the Dark Lord rose to confront over a dozen Jedi Masters pouring in from all corners of the large room, including a scowling Mace Windu and perfectly composed Yoda. Palpatine released the Dark Side cloud of distraction he had been sowing in Plagueis' mind, the experiment born of years of careful subterfuge, and collapsed to the floor. _You named me well, Master. Now die._

He watched as the battle of the age played out overhead. Knew who would win and found it satisfactory. Shmi would be safe. Anakin would be safe. Bremé would be safe. He hoped the Jedi would not retaliate against them because of him. He watched and waited until shadows gathered in his gaze and sweet darkness took him away. _I am sorry, Shmi…_

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **As a canon-trained Sith Lord, Palpatine rivals or surpasses the best in terms of fighting abilities, but even then, his greatest weapon is not his brawn, but his mind and sheer willpower. Insidious, meticulous, and long-planning. In this AU, it turned out to be his route to overthrowing Plagueis.**

 **One more section to go in this AU adventure. What will happen to this poor family now? Stay tuned! And feel free to let me know what you think of it.**


	9. Defying Expectations Part 7

**.**

 **Infinite Possibilities**

 **Chapter 9: Defying Expectations Part VII**

Shmi rubbed her hands together and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, trying to contain the shivers of fear as she waited in the west wing of the Halls of Healing. The Jedi Temple remained as imposing as ever, and more so when she had watched her husband's still form floated on a repulsorlift past the foreboding doors that she could not enter, surrounded by a dozen armed Jedi and several grim-faced healers.

The Jedi offered no apologies, simply told her that non-Jedi were not allowed past certain points in that eerie, offhanded way of theirs.

 _Eopie-wash_ , Shmi thought. The Jedi had nothing to fear from her; it wasn't as though she wanted to go snooping through their medical supplies. She wanted to know if Sheev would live.

She had caught a glimpse of his face as they brought him in, bloody and bruised but still alive. Still breathing, but something had been wrong with his breathing, because the healers pushed her away when she tried to reach him. He looked… shattered, somehow younger than his fifty-four years.

 _When he wakes up, I should tell him to frown less._

Because he would wake up. He had to.

She wanted Anakin to hug, but Anakin was off world; Palpatine had insisted that their son be kept far from Coruscant in case something went wrong with the deception. In fact, he was taking a vacation with one of Queen Amidala's acquaintances in a remote area of Naboo, as a favor to her fellow Naboo and old friend. He would be coming home soon. Bremé remained with her nurse droid, far away from the turmoil here.

One of the Jedi stepped through the large doors and walked in her direction, a blue-skinned Twi'lek female, her face grim and no-nonsense but her eyes soft with the compassion of a Healer.

Shmi's heart leapt into her throat.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He tapped the healed wrist carefully and flexed it. The healers had done an excellent job of repairing the shards of bone, of giving him back a nearly full range of motion. The public was incredibly grateful that the speeder accident had not been far worse and robbed them of their beloved Chancellor. He tugged the ornate sleeve back over his arm and lifted his eyes to the being sitting across from him in the empty chamber.

Yoda looked back at him with large green eyes. "Very popular, you are with the people. Reelection will be easy."

Palpatine met his gaze evenly. "Unless you choose to act."

"Capable of great evil you are, Chancellor," Yoda said, and paused. "But capable of great good, as well. If not for you, great damage this Darth Plagueis may have done. Irreparable damage. Hm…"

Palpatine felt the confusion crawling in his mind, along with something else. He shuddered and then lowered his shields somewhat, allowing the old troll to sift through his uppermost thoughts.

Yoda's face pinched with a hint of durasteel. "Remove your shields entirely, you will. Or end, this does."

Palpatine wanted to snarl at him, to set loose the Lightning he knew so well how to summon. Instead he bowed his head and thought of Shmi and Anakin and Bremé and let his natural shielding of decades fall away. He would not be able to help them behind the bars of a Jedi cell, which was where he feared he was heading regardless.

Yoda was not gentle with him. The old Jedi stripped every layer of subterfuge away until Palpatine's mind burned in the blinding, painful Light. For a short time, he thought he might die, and he wanted to so badly to crawl away into the shadows but couldn't. Yoda had a grip on him that was simultaneously hypnotizing and terrifying.

When Yoda finally left his mind, Palpatine was sweating and gasping for breath, shivering where he swayed on the gleaming floor. He hoped he wouldn't fall, not in front of this one. The diminutive Jedi master tilted his large head. "Such darkness, such darkness… Nothing like you has there been before, Chancellor. Not of the Light you are, but protected by it. Loved by the ones who wield it. This family of yours is unique, to love a Sith. One, by definition, who should not be loved, hm?"

Palpatine kept his mouth shut to avoid any ill-timed sarcastic responses, even if he agreed with the basic tenet.

Yoda slid out of his council seat and stumped over to the wide window, surveying the heart of the Republic pulsing just beyond in the Senate Building.

"Or love," he continued after a painfully long pause. "In your dark heart, sense it in you, I do."

Palpatine blinked but held his tongue.

"Spoke, I did, with Master Qui-Gon, and he made a point. If one can love, is one wholly evil?"

Yoda looked back at him like he expected an answer. Palpatine cleared his throat. "I wouldn't be in the position to make that decision." Good and evil were points of view, luxuries in a galaxy like this one. He had lived a life the Jedi could never imagine, seen things on the underside of Coruscant and in the bars of the galaxy's planets that would turn their sterile stomachs. 

The little troll made a grinding noise in the back of his throat, then a high pitched laugh escaped. "So cautious, you are, hm? Afraid to not be evil?"

The Jedi grandmaster had clearly lost his mind, Palpatine thought as he stared and Yoda turned his back to him once more. What a ridiculous notion…

"Become Chancellor again you will, for a second term," Yoda sighed to the window. He twisted to look at the human. "And make right your mistakes with this great responsibility, you will. The Jedi Order promises that."

Palpatine nodded, mind reeling. He would not be hunted. He would be able to keep his position. Things could be salvaged yet…

Yoda tapped his gimmer stick thoughtfully on the floor, jerking Palpatine's wandering attention back to the old master. "Wild and untamed you are, dark and untrustworthy. Called you insidious, your master did, and right, he was."

He restrained the snapping reply.

Yoda's voice may have softened the slightest degree, or perhaps it was only his imagination. "But hopeless, none are. Perhaps even you will, with help, see this in time. May the Force be with you."

Palpatine fled from the strange creature with as much dignity as he could muster, glad to be dismissed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There were, of course, several stipulations to being allowed to remain in politics. He was never to leave Coruscant except on official government business, and then he would be accompanied by Jedi masters. He was to take the significant earnings from his racing company and use them to ease the economic discomfort of the planets Plagueis had exploited.

Jag was understandably befuddled, but the older Weequay told Palpatine he was planning to retire soon anyway. Palpatine decided to let his oldest friend retire in peace, without ever knowing the real reasons behind the sudden charitable donations. He owed him that much.

The Jedi healers also put a location tracker in his shoulder and told him never to attempt to remove it, that the Council would hunt him down if he attempted to flee their oversight. It was to remain the rest of his life.

Shmi fumed, and he knew it brought alive memories of her time as a slave, monitored and practically collared.

He shrugged, pragmatic as ever. Location was irrelevant now that they already knew he was Sith.

It proved more difficult when they also installed listening devices in his apartments and offices, openly recording everything he said. Shmi panicked at that and complained to Yoda himself, but even her stubbornness did not dissuade them. They assured them both that the eavesdropping would cease when he finished his terms as Chancellor. Always careful with his words, Palpatine was less troubled by it than his wife.

He suspected her of letting those colorful diatribes against the Council slip on purpose. Lovely woman.

However, they could not control his intelligence and his political skills, not even when they assigned Jedi minders to be present constantly at his side, like prison guards for a golden cage. It required more subtlety on his part, but he managed it. Mace Windu, one of his primary 'advisers,' was no more adept in the subtleties of politics than a wild tuskcat, and so it was simple to talk around him. Some of the others provided more of a challenge, but he partly enjoyed the whetting of his wit on them.

He enjoyed getting his way when no one else thought he could. He might have even been able to wrangle an amendment to the term limits of Chancellor, riding high on his wave of popularity… Even the Jedi could not defy the entire Senate, and his approval ratings climbed higher every month.

It might have worked too, but he encountered stiff resistance in an area he was not expecting.

Shmi.

She wanted him out from under the Jedi, out of the position that pulled him constantly from his family. She spoke of him missing the best years of Bremé's young life due to the frantic requirements of high office. She spoke of Anakin missing his companionship like they had shared in the years before the election (especially before Plagueis), of how Palpatine would miss his grandchildren growing up someday if all he did was work.

Biting back horror at the thought of younglings running amuck and underfoot, Palpatine held his peace that day, because he also sensed that Shmi was worried for him, that he would attempt to do something unintelligent. Didn't she know him? Perhaps she did, too much.

But as time passed and he grew busier seeking to undo what corruption Plagueis had sowed, as the datapads accumulated and piles of flimsies began to stack up, Shmi's idea began to show merit.

It would get him away from that blasted Yoda, at the very least. He swore the little troll was obsessed with him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He closed the last box of desk supplies and let the droid hover it away. Everything was like a dream this afternoon, the closing of a chapter that never should have been written.

His eyes narrowed. Should have been written differently.

"I… I wanted more, Shmi," he admitted, staring out the transparisteel window, a view he had admired for eight long and productive years now. A window that had seen the Republic grow strong and united once more under his rule, the corrupt portions shaving away with ruthless efficiency, with the Jedi always watching carefully. He was the most popular Chancellor in hundreds of years; already a rather grandiose statue was being commissioned to reside in the Senate Building.

"I know you did," Shmi said from her place on the far side of the desk, looking around the grand room.

The effects of Darth Plagueis were finally dissipating, for the galaxy, at least. For him… not so much. He had been under virtual house arrest since then, the Jedi completely untrusting of a Sith. He couldn't blame them, because he still was.

He would always be Sith. He sighed. "I wanted… everything. I still. I still do."

His wife came up behind him and wrapped her arms carefully around his waist and hugged him. He willed the automatic response of his training and younger life to the back of his mind, still there and still strong with the desire to lash out at unexpected contact.

Shmi sighed against his back. "But you do have everything, Sheev. Everything that matters. This office will grow old and weak someday, the building's foundations will fall, but not Anakin's love for you, or Bremé's, or mine."

He took a deep, slow breath. "I can't deny who I am, Shmi."

Shmi tugged him around to face her. "Of course not. And you know who is the most powerful in the end? The one who can control his urges, the one who can look tempting power in the face and say, 'I don't need you to satisfy myself.'"

He looked down, amused at her words, distracted. "More powerful than power. That doesn't make sense."

"It does to me, and you said you trusted me," Shmi grinned impishly, and he reached out and curled one of her graying strands around his index finger, marveled at the love radiating from her faint presence in the Force. He could recognize it more easily with each passing week. The question was why…

Why didn't really matter, he supposed, when she did. He didn't claim to understand it, perhaps he never would. But he wanted it. More than anything else. Maybe even power. Maybe.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In his own way, Palpatine managed to find a shred of contentment when he accepted Chancellor Organa's appointment as High Judge of the Galactic Supreme Court at age fifty-eight. The youngest judge to ever sit on the highest court in the Republic, he continued to make for a sensational news story, but since he was no longer in the position to rule over the making of laws, the Jedi regarded him as less of a threat and returned some of his autonomy.

Idiots.

A Chancellor might sign laws and introduce bills, but a judge determined what would ultimately be permitted to exist as law. He began to enjoy it, solemnly debating over the constitutionality of certain laws and passages, pretending to deliberate thoughtfully over the controversies when in fact he understood perfectly what should and should not be allowed.

He carefully ensured that court decisions were rarely unanimous, that his fellow judges showed some initiative of their own, just not too much.

True, ruling the High Court did not carry the same flash and external glory as ruling the Republic, but Palpatine reflected that it was, in fact, more in line with his personal preferences anyway. Pomp and circumstance mattered little to true power. Here, his word was law, literally. He could shape the galaxy and this government for centuries to come in subtle ways like no Chancellor could ever hope to do.

The nicest thing about this position: no term limits. Shmi laughed and laughed when he told her this with a straight face.

"What will you do without constituents to woo?" she teased.

"They irritated me anyway," he muttered. "There was a reason I was hoping to set up a dictatorship, you know."

"Kissing babies wasn't your thing?" she giggled. "And you should really avoid saying things like that. You'll upset Master Yoda if he finds out."

"They are no longer recording me here. They believe I am no longer a threat to their unofficial rule of the Republic."

"Is that so?" she grinned.

"The first part is. The second is yet to be determined."

Shmi reflected on his words, the playful glint fading from her large eyes. "Every day, I'm more glad Plagueis is gone. I love you, Sheev, no matter how hard you keep trying to take over the galaxy."

"I have work to do," he muttered, scandalized and secretly very, very pleased.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Dad," Anakin coughed in embarrassment. "I really wasn't planning on a third degree interrogation."

"When you bring home a queen, it's bound to raise eyebrows," Palpatine said calmly, spearing his fillet of imported shaak. "Especially one older than you." Anakin winced.

"I can't live without her, Dad! She's the one, I know she is."

Shmi, Padmé Amidala, and ten-year-old Bremé were out shopping in Coruscant's largest mall complex, which was all for the best, he supposed, since this conversation was happening now. Since his nineteen-year-old son was being completely ridiculous over a female.

"Anakin, I've been alive for sixty years now, I know what tusk-cat cub love looks like," he sighed.

"Yes, Your Honor," Anakin lipped back, jokingly mocking his latest career. "I didn't need a ruling passed on my love life either."

"I haven't forgotten how to throw Lightning," Palpatine warned softly, and then smiled when Anakin paled and straightened up. Silly boy, he'd never even felt its effects, and never would. He had grown up, Palpatine realized with a soft sigh, from a slave into a racer into a promising young mechanic and officer in the Senate guard complex. A career that could lead places. A generalship. An admiralship. Something nice.

And now he was falling in love with his clientele… Preposterous. He stabbed the shaak with more enthusiasm than required.

"Is this because she was your queen after we met each other?" Anakin asked. "Please don't make this more awkward than it already is, Dad."

"It's not that," he protested softly. "Senator Amidala is a well-meaning individual, I know. But… isn't she a little old for you?"

"Daaaad…" Anakin whined and buried his face in his hands.

He couldn't stop the smirk curling his thin lips.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Shmi gripped his arm tightly through the thick brocaded sleeve as they walked along the columned veranda. Bremé laughed and scouted ahead, jumping from column to column, her presence bright in the Force. "Wasn't it a beautiful wedding, Sheev?"

"I've never liked Theed," he grumbled, eyes fixed on his daughter as she found one of her best friends and they skittered away into the depths of the Palace. He took a deep breath and let her go; Bremé was getting old enough to be on her own now and then.

But not too long… He'd send 11-4D after her before long to dissuade any of her hopeful suitors that he well knew lurked around nearly every rounded corner of this confounding city. Shmi patted his shoulder, pulling his attention back.

"Which means the wedding was all the lovelier, something to focus on. Take your mind off those nasty traditional buildings."

"You're mocking me," he said, slightly miffed, because she loved Theed. Shmi laughed and pulled his head down for a kiss. He was just starting to enjoy it when someone gasped behind his back.

"Mom, Dad! Please not here," Anakin begged. Beside him, on his arm, his new bride Padmé grinned and smothered a giggle.

Palpatine pulled back from a glowing Shmi and smiled at Padmé. "The newlyweds are off, then?"

She blushed and dropped her gaze. "We're going to Aquilaris."

Anakin grinned, his parents' faux paus easily forgotten. "Podracing and speederbikes-"

Padmé finished, "and white sand beaches!"

Anakin clearly didn't share her enthusiasm. "Yeah. Sand."

Palpatine said dryly, "You'll manage, I assume."

"We'll send lots of holopics, Father-in-Law," Padmé curtsied to him, and he mused that at least one of them had a sense of decorum. He nodded back to her graciously.

"Oh, please do," Shmi stepped up and hugged her new daughter tightly. "And take care of my Ani."

Then they were off, hushed giggles and hands everywhere, and Palpatine stood shaking his head in mild disapproval.

Shmi nudged his side. "Are we too old for that?"

"Undoubtedly," he sniffed.

She paused and smiled coyly. "Do we know that?" 

He glanced at her and saw the look meant for him, only for him. He felt his own smile growing. "I doubt it."

He gave her a head start back to the apartment, but not much of one. He was Sith, after all.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was a strange thing, looking down at two screaming babes and realizing: his grandchildren. Well, technically not his by blood, but the mother and father had accepted him into their family. Of all things, the grandmother had married him, and he had a real daughter now, something he still thought must be a dream. After all, his dreams were not so dark now, not since Plagueis' passing almost nine years ago.

"Would you like to hold her?" Shmi lifted the girl higher and without waiting for his inevitable protest, laid her gently in his arms.

He looked at the little name tag, done up in brightly colored and dancing zalaaca colts, how revoltingly childish. "Leia…"

"She's beautiful, isn't she."

"Hm," was all he was willing to say, because he didn't trust himself to speak. His throat closed a little with some emotion he couldn't define, didn't dare define.

He had a real family. This was a family? Yes. Anakin and Padmé, curled on the hospital bed together cooing over Luke, teenage Bremé making faces behind them, Shmi gazing up at him with blatant love in her eyes, Leia blinking sleepily in his arms... He could feel the Force power in her; they would be fighting off the Jedi once again.

He looked at Shmi, thought of all the times she had prompted him to say it, thought that she deserved to hear it more. She was the one. The one who had pulled him from his dark destiny. The one who had inspired him to tame the beast in his soul. The one who had given him a real family.

He thought he might be able to say it now if he tried. Unprompted. Genuine. Frighteningly so.

"What are you up to, Sheev?" she asked curiously when she noticed his stare.

He shrugged, careful not to upset the babe, and took a deep breath. "I love you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **The end. :) There is something strangely satisfying about writing a happy ending to an AU, particularly with Palpatine as the main character. He deserves it after all the things I've put him through, and am planning to put him through.**

 **Hope you folks enjoyed the ending to this AU.**


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